Goddess Noir
by EverspringNative
Summary: A dark story set in India months after Erik left Persia. He finds himself tangled in lust, true love, and pending danger. A different take on why he may have been deformed. Please read and review!
1. The Goddess

Upfront warning of sensuality.

This is a story about India, of a man far removed from what he has known. This is a story of a genius, of a man who has used his talents in ways that never satisfied him. This is a story of a man who bore more inner scars than outer. This is a story of obsession, betrayal, forgiveness and absolution. This is the downfall of a man and the birth of a phantom.

* * *

Goddess Noir 

Paris, 1870

He stood in the shadows and watched with varying interest as the women walked by. Some were only children still, flat-chested and straight-bodied. None seemed to notice him. No one ever noticed him. In his fist he held a small purse of coins. There was enough to buy half the women walking the street, though that would have been money wasted.

A cruel thought passed through his mind. Could he have purchased Christine? Could a pocketful of coins have opened her legs? He cast his eyes down in shame. It didn't matter. She was gone. Nothing mattered. Nothing would bring her back. He had ruined it. His face had ruined what his heart needed.

With hands shaking he stepped forward as a black-haired girl walked by. The Goddess, he thought, the Goddess Noir, the deity of night. His mouth grew dry with want.

Her locks were pin straight, her eyes painted in shades of blue, lips the color of blood. The shades of blood he knew well, though her eyes? Bruises, hethought, they are the color of bruises. It had been years since he had seen the sky.

She was exotic, with small jewels glued above her eyebrows and fixed into her hair and on her bare shoulders. He looked at her and saw an evening sky glittering with stars. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped, black as coal, and empty as the familiar darkness. Her skin titian, like cream stirred into coffee.

The Goddess was like a memory, a dream he had thought had once haunted him. She was familiar yet foreign and beautiful as the white oleander.

Without a thought, he strolled up beside her on her right side and grabbed her arm. She startled but didn't pull away. She was used to men grabbing her and pulling her into an alley, he thought. Used to cold money placed into her hand, a skirt hitched up to her belly and her back against the brick wall. Used to men rutting and not loving.

He knew neither sex nor love.

"No work tonight," she said, her East Indian accent thick. Her voice accentuated her exotic features partially hidden beneath black eyeliner and reddened lips. He had heard her speak before, many times before. She was eloquent when she wanted to be. Tonight, she wished to be nothing.

"Please, oh God don't turn me away," he panted. He turned slightly, showing her a flash of stark white curved leather. The mask he wore; the garment he swore never to remove. "Just a word. Just an hour, two at the most. I only want to talk. Please, oh God, please don't leave me."

She glanced away and ignored the desperation in his eyes. Other girls had turned him away. Other girls had laughed in his face, pushed his money back into his chest and told him to either satisfy himself or find a woman who couldn't see.

"Goddess…," he pleaded. He had begged often lately. He had begged _her_ lately.

"Erik, we both know that words are not what you want."

Her pace quickened, her hips swaying back and forth. She was leaving him behind and he knew it.

"Goddess, please," he whispered, grabbing tighter to her arm. "Just once. Just this once." He shoved the bag of coins into her hand. "Five thousand francs. I'll give you ten if that will change your mind."

Onyx eyes narrowed. She ran her tongue along her painted lips as she weighed the bag of coins.

"An hour?" she questioned.

Erik nodded readily, his throat dry, hoping she would not deny him. He had wanted two hours, but if he could get one he would take it.

"Show me the other half."

Another heavy bag placed into her hand. "It's all there. Ten thousand. Count it now if you wish."

She shrugged off his hand and continued down the street. "Follow me."

Erik paused, mouth agape. Ten thousand francs, half his money for the month, given to the Goddess Noir and he could think of no better way to spend it than hearing her sing. Even as she walked she sang, the voice of a dark angel leading him towards a vacant building.

* * *

The Goddess never locked the door behind her. From the two times Erik had come to her, he had realized that there was no need. Strangers are what gave her money, what paid for the small trinkets that adorned the cracked walls, what bought her food and the clothes she wore. 

As usual, he sat motionless at the end of the bed. There was nothing over the mattress and barely enough light in the room to see the stains and tears. Just being here made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The smell of urine and lust made his stomach churn while the sound of headboards hitting walls made his hands ball into fists.

The Goddess stood with her back to him. She played with the laces at the front of her bodice then swiped a bottle of perfume from a small vanity. Her obsidian eyes found Erik's face in the dirty mirror and she smiled wryly as she sprayed her neck with marigold perfume.

He showed minimal interest in her activity. The Goddess smiled to herself. He came for only one thing: her voice.

Slowly she turned and slipped cymbals onto her thumbs and forefingers. With a sigh she sauntered toward him, looking down as Erik sat on the edge of the bed, his face hardened with anticipation.

"What tonight?" the Goddess asked.

"Anything," he breathed.

She leaned forward and touched the edge of the cymbal to his chin. "Undress me and I shall sing for you, Phantom."

He looked away. "You are not to call me that."

The Goddess found satisfaction in his misery. She straddled his left leg and leaned to the side until she caught his eye. "Call you what the Persians called you? Is that it? Better days are what you search for of palaces and torture chambers."

Erik nervously swallowed.

"And a woman. Because there is always a woman," she purred.

He started to leave but she slid further up his leg and placed her hand convincingly low on his stomach.

"Tell me her name," she sang softly. "Tell me the name of the dream I replace."


	2. Venom of Love

Ch 2

Fifteen years before the opera fire….

The first night he had seen her was on the parapet at sunset. She had stood in a throng of other women in her family. There were all dressed in red saris with gold thread creating elaborate designs. She and her youngest sister had been feeding crackers to caged songbirds. Through the bars she had watched him and he had watched her in a distant but dangerous tango.

Even though it wasn't so, Erik could not imagine such a fair creature within a cage. She may not have been as contained as the songbirds but the engagement had not yet been accepted. That would seal her fate, clip her wings, make her intangible.

But no less desirable.

Pandir Patel had not been exaggerating when he had boasted of seven lovely daughters.

"Fruitless pursuits, Erik," Ravi commented. "Fruitless, dangerous pursuits."

Erik turned to see Ravi Shah standing behind him. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to recognize trouble brewing," Ravi replied. He was dressed in black from head to foot with his shiny dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. The young man was smirking which seemed to soften his sharp features, bringing out his dimples.

"The birds are quite beautiful though the fountains are a bit garish. Not the most flattering considering the rest of the parapet."

"How did you notice birds and fountains when you have been staring at Anisha all night?" Ravi questioned. He stepped forward with his hands behind his back and nudged Erik with his shoulder. "You are to design her palace, not fill it with absurd dreams."

"I'd rather fill her bed at night and her house with children," Erik murmured.

"That is for Girish to do. Come on before she sees you standing there," Ravi urged. He started to walk away but stopped, noticing the young architect had not moved. "Erik," he warned.

Erik refused to stop staring. He had been in India for a month and not once seen this young woman. She had been away with her aunts meeting her betrothed for the first year. Her father, Pandir Patel, had agreed to his oldest daughter that he would not finalize the arrangements until she met Girish Baleeze.

"I thought we were friends, Ravi?"

"Friends? You have no friends here, not in India. You are a guest in the Patel house but nothing more. Stare at her a moment longer and you'll be buried in a column you designed."

Erik brazenly stared across the way and met the black-haired woman's eye. He tempted fate with a slight bow and a crooked grin at his employer's oldest daughter. He had not yet met the girl but he knew she was a sought-after delicacy to the boys around Dareesh. In the month he had been in the seaside city he had heard several young builders say 'more precious than water is a child belonging to Patel.' Now Erik saw why. He had thought the sunrise over the Bay of Bengal to be magnificent. Nothing compared to this goddess, aside from perhaps seeing her at sunrise.

Anisha glanced coyly away at the bold gesture. She took her sister by the hand and whispered something with her hand to her face. The two girls giggled and turned back to their female relatives. They waited their turn to head into the reception room below where the engagement was to be announced. Before the group descended down into the palace, Anisha looked back once at Erik and smiled, her black eyes twinkling.

That was the first time he had seen Anisha Patel. Despite the twisting in his gut he would be damned if it would be the last.

* * *

Corinna Desai was a rare breed. Her mother was part Spaniard and part Dutch, which gave her a long nose and arched brows. Her father was Indian, which gave her coal black hair and her standoffish disposition towards members of her own sex. 

Ravi Shah had teased her that she had come on the same shipment as their new architect guest. She had rolled her eyes at the assumption but made no attempt to distance herself from the Parisian. At least not while her father was still in Goa

"Have you tried the lassi?" she questioned as she slid onto the marble bench beside Erik. She held out her cup of mango milk and Erik turned away. "What? It's good."

He held up a cup of tea and half-smiled. "I'm fine with Earl Grey," he replied. "Now I feel at home."

Corinna turned her head to the side and waited for him to look at her. She could see the torchlight reflecting off of his light eyes, burnishing his nose and forehead with golden hues. He had sat in the same place for an hour and done nothing but watch the dances, refusing to drink and ignoring the other guests. He was staring only at Anisha Patel.

The young girl's irritation grew as he further ignored her in favor of her cousin. "They are dancing the _dhamail _for the expected proposal. Do you know this song?"

Erik glanced at Corinna. "I don't know any of the dances. I haven't been here long enough to acquire the proper teacher."

"It's called _Amar chittey nishidh,_" Corinna purred. "The song of the woman so besotted with love that her family thought she had been bitten by a snake."

Erik snorted. "Sounds ridiculous."

Corinna rested her head on his shoulder. She half-expected he would sit her upright but he didn't move. He was too involved in watching Girish Baleeze and Padir Patel exchange pleasantries to know that she had put her cheek to his. "Maybe in Europe your people don't know that venom can be removed from a wound but love cannot be removed from the heart," she whispered.

Erik pulled away and glanced at Corinna. Every woman in the room had stared at her with cruel, disapproving eyes all night long. She sat too close to a man who was not her husband, laughed too loud at jests they did not understand. If her father had been here to witness her antics with his own eyes most certainly he would have ordered her stoned to death or shipped back to London.

"I thought you were not allowed to partake in libations," Erik commented. He had meant it as a jest but his words fell flat.

"I'm not. Lassi has only mangoes nothing more." She moved in closer and grinned against his freshly shaven face. "Monsieur, I thought you were not allowed to stare at Anisha all night."

He shot her an angry glance but held his tongue. The other guests had started to applaud the dancing. He stood and did the same, eyes locked on the woman imminently announced as a bride.

Corinna sat back and regarded him. Erik thought he was a genius, which in part he was. Out of seven architects commissioned by the Patel Family he was the youngest. He was also the cockiest.

Erik and Corinna had known each other for two months now, which as far as Corinna was concerned was as good as a lifetime. They had both sailed together from England where Erik had humored Corinna and her companion, Ursula. They had been the only two women aboard the ship under the age of fifty and had proven easily entertained. Naturally, as a man of twenty, he had sought them out knowing they would bat their eyes and giggle at whatever he said.

"Have you seen the tigers?" Corinna asked suddenly. "I heard her father had a mating pair delivered to his palace."

"What of it?" Erik snapped.

Corinna shrugged. "They were beautiful. It's a shame they'll be caged and forgotten when something new comes along."

"I don't care about tigers. Child, you are exhausting. Isn't there anyone else you would rather bother tonight?"

Her eyes widened. "Bother?"

"That isn't what I—"

With a pout Corinna rose and sauntered away, dipping her hand into the nearest fountain and flicking her damp fingers towards Anisha. There was an apology in need of being delivered, Erik knew, one that would have to wait until later in the night.

Monsieur Desai would disapprove of his daughter being treated so, especially by a wretch he had picked up in Persia.


	3. Lost Things

_A/N As you've seen this story alternates between Paris 1870 and India 1855. In 1855 Erik was not yet deformed in any way (other than maybe mentally since he's obsessive). This story is going to attempt to explain what happened after Persia but before going back to Paris. You'll see the past fleshed out and the present (with the Goddess) bringing reminders of what he was as a man of 20 dangerously flirting with a rich man's promised daughter, amongst other things._

Ch 3

The Goddess tugged at the cravat as she sat on Erik's knee and teased his every want. She brushed her wrist under his nose, touching his lips as her thumb passed over his flesh. He closed his eyes to the smell, to the warmth of her caress. His lips parted, tongue lingering between his opened mouth. The moment he leaned forward she drew back.

"It's been three weeks since you came to me," she whispered in his ear. "Where have you been, my love?"

Erik turned his face away from her. He had never undressed before her. He had never asked her to remove her clothes either. A month had passed since the opera fire, a long month of scrounging for food and clothing, of trying in vain to remain warm, dry, and bathed. He had gone back to the opera house when living on the street had become too dangerous. He had returned to an existence of a carcass living in an empty shell.

The cravat came away in her fingers and his neck was exposed. The warmth of the fabric was replaced by the heat of her breath. She tempted him to the point of madness.

"Not going to tell me where you've been? What women you've bedded?"

The Goddess moved her hands down his opened shirt and parted the fabric further and ran her fingers through the dark hair. She watched his chest rise and fall, felt his heart pounding against her palm. He was on the brink of life and death. Desire had blindfolded him and bound his hands. Rejection had shoved him to the edge. Her voice could push him over or drag him back to safety.

"Have you been with a woman before?" she asked.

His answer was nothing more than a swallow.

"I know her name already, this woman I replace. The dancer, the singer you wanted to make your own—"

He stood up abruptly and tossed The Goddess to the ground. "Don't you dare say her name!" Erik said through his teeth. He hovered over her, fists clenched and wild-eyed.

The Goddess laid back, legs sprawled apart so that her skirt showed the outline of her thighs, hair tousled and masking her almond-shaped eyes. She smiled slightly as she sat up and crossed her legs. Her fingers ran along her lower lip where his hand had swiped her in the face. It had not been intentional. She knew he had not meant to strike her in the face, not when his own face was such a disaster.

"You've bruised me, Erik. Apologize at once."

The beauty laid out on the dirty floor was too much to bear. He hadn't meant to hurt her. She was too beautiful, too fragile to be treated in such a way. She was a goddess. His Goddess Noir, the woman of the night.

"I'm sorry." His voice trembled, a deep rumble of panic and regret.

She spread her legs wider against the simple skirt. "Sincerity, Erik, you're lacking sincerity."

"I didn't mean it. Don't make me leave. All I wanted to do was hear you sing," he whispered as he turned away. "All I want is your voice."

A month ago as he hid in the bordello he had heard a voice from a window. He was hungry and cold, drawn to the promise of sound, of beautiful sound that healed the innermost wounds.

He had only come to her for music. Over and over he promised her as they walked down the darkened streets, splashing through puddles and past vagrants asleep against buildings. The only companion he had known for fifteen years was music. The only lady to stay with such a monster danced on notes, skipped across the page and pirouetted through his mind. Nothing more. There was to be nothing more for the rest of his dreaded life. He had promised a whore that he wouldn't touch her. Nothing was more lowly than guaranteeing a whore she would be safe in his company.

"Only my voice?"

"Yes."

"And shelter from the night I suspect. Did you see the snow? It does not snow in Calcutta. Or Dareesh. Have you heard of Dareesh? There is a lovely palace there."

"Please let me stay with you. You're the only thing I have left," he said under his breath. His back slid down the wall and he stared blankly across the empty room. The need to vomit swirled through his belly despite not eating for days.

On hands and knees The Goddess slunk across the floor. She moved toward the lamp by the bedside and turned it down, draping the room in darkness.

"The only thing you have left," The Goddess sighed. "How very flattering."

"Don't mock me," he whispered.

She made her way towards Erik, the gold bangles on her wrists and the cymbals clanking the wooden floorboards giving away her location. "And tell me, Erik…_Phantom_….for I have forgotten the moment. When have you had me?"

A small sob left his mouth.

"By the size of your nose I would not remember it. Of course with the mask I cannot see all of it but you do not seem very…well endowed. So many men come to pay me homage; so many men with decent noses come to my bed."

"Stop it," he pleaded. "You don't know what I've been through; you don't know how I've lived, how I've suffered. Suffered!"

The casual smirk remained on her painted lips."Then tell me. Tell me everything and start with the girl you love. Christine, isn't it?"

"Yes," he whispered. He shook his head and began to sob again. "No."

Hands to his face, Erik crawled into hiding on the other side of the bed and wept for what he had lost and for what he would never have.


	4. Girish Baleeze

_a/n Not that anyone was concerned by it but FYI nonetheless: the town of Dareesh is completely fictional. There is no place that I know of outside of Calcutta called Dareesh. I hope you are enjoying the exotic locale. Thank you for reading and reviewing. Letting me know that you're out there is so important and much appreciated!_

Ch 3

The night grew longer and the crowd swelled with new guests coming to see the engagement announced. Family and friends were moved down from the rooftop patio as rain scented the breeze. Erik had seen servants scrambling to take the caged birds down to shelter as they cleared a small table of refreshments and hurried chairs down to the main room.

Erik thought the setting sun would have been a beautiful backdrop to an engagement, though Girish Baleeze was waiting until midnight to ask Padir Patel for his daughter's hand. Even so, Erik preferred the parapet lined with flowers and potted plants and the fountains providing the music of falling water.

People brushed up against Erik's back and sides as they flowed through the room. Music played softly in the background from one of the many smaller rooms down the narrow southern hall.

Pandir Patel had acquired a taste for chamber music and had insisted that several musicians from Italy be brought in for the engagement. Three years spent in Europe had refined his taste. In passing Erik had heard someone mutter that Pandir must have traded his textiles and spices for British blood.

The room where the couple was to be announced was lit by an iron chandelier in the center of the vaulted ceiling. Two tiers blazed with rings of fire, sending off waves of heat and dancing shadows in the rectangular room.

The long windows on either side had been opened, and the tangerine gossamer curtains swayed with the western breeze. Had there not been smaller rooms down the hall to compensate for the increasing attendance it would have been unbearably stuffy. Erik wasn't sure what had been in the rooms before the engagement party. There were only paintings on the walls and wooden chairs for guests to sit. Erik had found himself impressed by an original French painting hanging in one room. He recognized it immediately and smirked at the sight. Undoubtedly someone had purchased the painting for the exotic beauty not knowing that Jean-Leon Gerome had painted a prostitute.

More and more people entered back into the main room as the hours passed. Torches in the far hall made them into faceless, murmuring shadows. All of the food and drink were in the larger room where Erik and the majority of Padir Patel's family mingled.

This was how an engagement should be, Erik thought. The flowers made the air sweet, the lighting added to the romance and the music drifting from various rooms made the atmosphere all the more exotic. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply. He had never experienced anything quite like this.

"So what do you think?" Ravi asked as he walked up to Erik and nodded at the crowd. He handed the young architect a glass of wine. "Impressive, isn't it?"

"It's interesting, I'll give you that."

Ravi chuckled to himself. "Always so enigmatic. I trust you'll have more to say to Pandir than you do to me. Remember he enjoys flattery on everything save his daughters—his nearly married daughters, I might add."

Erik made no reply. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched the women float by.

Erik stood apart from the crowd. He was the only one dressed as a European. He had not yet given up a fine white shirt, maroon brocade waistcoat and overcoat. The cravat he had tossed aside but only because Corinna had bumped his elbow and splashed wine on it.

The rest of the men, be them from India or across the sea, wore _sherwanis_, finely embroidered traditional garments that looked like long, elaborate tunics. The detail was astounding and Erik found himself admiring each colleague that walked up to greet him. He smirked to himself that it was nearly impossible to tell one from the next as they all wore either black or creamy whites. Only the patterns in gold thread distinguished one man from the next.

The women were dressed more lavishly than their husbands, brothers and sons. Most of them wore saris of rich reds and deep blues. Only one had strayed from the color scheme. Corinna stood out in a sari the color of a lime peel. It wasn't enough that she spoke with a British accent. The girl had to make herself known.

Anisha entered the room on the arm of her father to a flutter of applause. She bent down to greet her grandmother by touching her foot. Erik found it almost irritating that such a goddess would be forced to kneel before anyone. She should have been placed on dais and worshipped.

"Her fiancé is a wealthy man, one of the biggest exporters of gold and diamonds in India. She will be quite happy with Girish."

Erik twisted to face Ravi. "What's that in her hair? Is it gold?"

Ravi craned his neck to look at Anisha and nodded. "Of course it is gold. This is India, isn't it? Or do you think you're still in Europe?"

Erik turned back to watch Anisha greet even more relatives.

Ravi walked up beside Erik and gave an exaggerated sigh. "It's called a _mangatika_. It's a symbol of marriage. Ornamentation, really, nothing more than a clip at the hairline to signify she is to be wed."

"But she isn't engaged yet."

Ravi glanced at his pocket watch. It was a gift from Pandir to his favorite nephew and lavishly adorned with Ravi's initials. "Not yet. But in two hours she will be. Why don't you have Pandir introduce you to some of his family members? I'm sure he would love to show them his newest fancy."

"How very condescending of you," Erik chuckled.

"What? You don't believe me? You are little more than a monkey providing entertainment to its master. All you need are a pair of symbols."

Erik shook his head and followed Ravi. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of his reflection in the long mirror across the room. He enjoyed that he stood out from the crowd in his European garb and combed back hair. It would make it easier for Anisha to see him in the throng, he thought wickedly.

Erik ran his hands over his hair and tucked a stray lock of dark blond hair behind his ear. It had been nearly two months since he had seen a barber and it was starting to show. With a smirk at his own image, he straightened his lapels and pulled at his cuffs.

Someone else was staring. He could feel the eyes on him.

"Corinna," he muttered. She had come back seeking an apology, no doubt.

Erik brushed his hands down his overcoat and caught a flash of red to his right in the mirror. Another set of eyes stared back at him.

"My father says you are a genius."

The intended bride's presence startled him. He smiled smoothly and turned to greet Anisha. It was the first time he had seen her unaccompanied by a family member all evening.

Before Erik had time to speak he found Ravi instantly at her side. Erik offered a short bow to the young woman and ignored his guide and translator.

Ravi took his cousin's arm. "Anisha, I don't believe you have properly met your father's guest. This is—"

"I know who he is. I saw Father introducing him to Grandfather earlier in the evening," she replied before her cousin could finish. She smiled warmly at her cousin when she spoke. "Father says he is not only an architect but a musician."

"Your father is too kind," Erik replied. He stared unabashedly at the woman. Her eyes were rimmed in black and there was a dark spot on her forehead. Ravi had told him casually that all children from the time they are six days old were marked with a dark spot on their forehead. Marring their beauty was thought to keep away bad spirits.

Nothing could have marred Anisha's beauty. Not even _kajal._

"My father only praises those he finds worthy." Her posture shifted, hips turning so that she was closer to Erik without moving.

"Anisha, you are too bold for your own good," Ravi replied. He pulled her closer. "Those years in London have not yet left you, have they?"

"London?" Erik questioned. He hadn't noticed a British accent.

"Father spoils us," she smiled. "So you met my uncle in Persia?"

Erik felt his lips straighten. So that was the story they had settled on. They had met in Persia. Erik nodded quickly. "We traveled first to Europe and then here. He's been very good to me. I can't thank him enough."

"And you met my cousin Corinna as well?"

"Yes. I escorted her from London here on her father's command."

Ravi stiffened as the conversation continued. "Perhaps, Anisha, you would care to introduce your father's newest discovery to your intended?" He glared at Erik briefly before offering his cousin a placid smile.

"Of course," Anisha agreed. Her onyx eyes flashed to Erik. "Come with me, monsieur. Girish will be most pleased to meet the man building our home."

Girish Baleeze was unusually tall for an Indian. He and Erik stood relatively the same height, though Girish had a longer torso and shorter legs. He also had olive green eyes which struck Erik as being strangely hypnotizing on such a dark face. It was difficult to hate such a prominent looking man though Erik found a spike of jealousy resonating through his chest.

The handsome fiancée took Erik by the wrist and shook his hand. "Mr. Patel has said so much about you. I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"And you as well."

"How do you like Dareesh so far?" Girish questioned.

"It's different."

"He came into port with my cousin Corinna," Anisha added.

"How long have you been here?"

"Four weeks," Erik answered.

"Have you seen much?"

"No."

"A man of few words, I see?"

"I'm afraid so."

Girish glanced around the room until he found Corinna speaking with Anisha's father. They were standing near the doorway leading up to the parapet where the crowd had been earlier in the evening.

"I trust you had a pleasant voyage to my country?"

"Pleasant enough."

"For a Frenchman you are unique. I've never seen one of your kind so tight-lipped."

"I'm not originally from France."

Girish smiled uncomfortably. "Well I'm sure the journey must have seemed twice as long with Corinna onboard. It amazed me that you survived—and that you did not toss her overboard," he laughed.

Erik's green eyes narrowed on Girish Baleeze. As much as Corinna irritated him this night he was fond of her. She was gregarious but pleasant and highly educated for a woman of her descent.

"Why would you say that?" Erik questioned.

Girish grunted. "I've met her before."

"And?"

Girish laughed to himself and crossed his arms. "What is there to say? Every man in this room would agree she talks too much for her own good."

"Not all men," Erik replied. He glanced at Ravi and Anisha and gave another short bow. "Enjoy your evening. Best of luck to you both."

Without another word he turned and headed for the stairs.


	5. The Stairs

_Recap: Erik had a confronation with Girish Baleeze, Anisha Patel's fiance. Girish insulted Corinna Desai, the young woman Erik escorted from Europe to India. The slander irritated Erik and he walked away before the engagement was announced._

Ch 5

Erik had every intention of heading down to his room and retiring for the night. He had no desire to see anyone else from the party. To hell with their engagement, he said to himself as he rounded the corner and trotted toward the narrow staircase.

Several older gentlemen were coming up the stairsand Erik was forced to hold back and wait for them to pass. No one seemed to notice his mounting frustration, though the language barrier would have prevented communication if anyone had wanted to ask why he was so red-faced.

He could still see Girish Baleeze's face in his mind. The confident sneer, prominent nose and sleek black hair. He was a perfect physical complimentto Anisha Patel.

Erik despised him.

"Insulting bastard," Erik muttered to himself. If it had been anyone else Erik wouldn't have given it a second thought, but Corinna's father had put him in charge of watching over the girl. In the two months Erik had known Corinna he had become protective of her. He had to be.

Her father was the only reason he was still alive.

Eriktugged at his sleeves and heard one of his cufflinks pins clink on the stairs. A growl of frustration left his lips.

The hall was dark and the stairs were short and narrow, cracked in places and uneven in others. The home, though large now, had been added to over the years.

The main part of the house, which had originally belonged to Padir's father, consisted only of the lower floor with two small bedrooms. The kitchen, as Padir had explained, was once attached to what was now a larger room with a fireplace.

They had added to the house considerably over the years though no one had paid much mind as to what the final result would be.The stucco walls were different in color where the new addition joined with the older foundations. In some places imported Italian tile created murals on the walls, though this had been a recent endeavor by the patriarch. His wife was far more interested in hand-blown vases and paintings from Europe than seamless walls.

Looking at the patheticarrangement, Erik couldn't help but wonder if it would have been easier to moveawayand start anew. The architect in him cringed at the layout, especially when Padir's wife handed him a small sketch of how she wanted to add a courtyard for the newer bedrooms to overlook. That, Erik tried to explain, would be impossible. There was nothing symmetric about the Patel house and absolutely no way a proper courtyard could be constructed. Erik would have rather broken his own arm than designed such a catastrophe. Still, Padir held onto the home for sentimental reasons and nothing more. He could have had a house the size of the Taj Mahal had it suited him.

"Wonderful," Erik said under his breath as he searched the dark stairway in vain.

He stooped over and squinted to no avail. He ran the toe of his shoe along the stair and waited to hear his foot scrape the small brass object against the stone. Nothing. He walked down a step and tried again. After three more steps his patience had all but left him.

"It will be easier in the morning," he heard Corinna say from behind.

Erik turned and saw her sitting a few steps above him with her chin resting against her palms. The bangles on her wrists had nearly fallen to her elbows.

"It'll be gone by then," he sighed.

She leaned forward. "No it won't. It's two steps ahead of you."

With great care he walked down three steps and turned around. He knelt down and instantly saw what he was looking for. His eyes rose to see Corinna smiling. "Good eye," he commented.

Corinna shrugged. "Must come with youth, I suppose."

He blinked at her. "Are you calling me old?"

"Men are rarely considered old. You may wed when you are twenty or when you are forty and it doesn't much matter. Women, however…do you realize that my father has already started to howl about my marriage? Uncle Padir has been urging him to find a man for me now before I turn sixteen and become an old maid." She imitated two people arguing and used her hands as puppets.

Erik shook his head. Before he could reply he was forced to move to the side. Another couple was heading up the stairs for the announcement. The woman stopped and scolded Corinna though Erik had no idea what was said. He had not yet picked up on the languages.

"You should be upstairs," Erik said. He looked away and replaced the cufflink.

"So should you."

"You're family."

"You're a guest." She paused and gave a wicked little grin. "Or you're a monkey without cymbals according to Ravi."

"Most amusing." Erik sighed. "It's been a long day of planning with Mr. Patel. I'm a bit exhausted."

"I find it ironic that you meet Girish Baleeze then leave the party."

Erik ignored her words. "Where is Ursula?"

"She's probably looking for me."

Ursula Chowdry was the youngest widow Erik had ever seen. She was eighteen, had no children, and had served as Corinna's guardian for the past two years. It was her means of income since her husband passed away.

Life had aged her considerably. She was a hard-faced woman with deep-set eyes and a hooded brow. Her eyes were creased at the outer corners with crow's feet, her lips constantly turned down in an eternal scowl. She had laughed bitterly at Erik's jests once Corinna translated his words for her. Being in Ursula's presence made him increasingly uncomfortable. She looked like a ghost that had not yet come to be, one longing to join the three babies she had miscarried.

Erik shuddered at the thought of her. "You should probably go back to your cousins."

With her hand on the iron railing Corinna stood up and adjusted her sari at the shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure they miss my incessant chatter. Especially Mr. Baleeze."

Her comment forced him to look away. "Yes, well…"

Corinna craned her neck. "What is that? A skull?"

Erik turned his wrist so that she had a better view of the brass cufflink. "It is. Found them when we first docked here."

"A bit morbid," she said with a smile. "Fitting, though, just as eccentric as you."

With all of the guests inside the house Erik considered himself fortunate that he had not been forced out into the goat shed or the stable. He was rooming with a man of his own age named Omar who spoke broken English and had dabbled in French. It was just enough for Erik to be able to understand him but seemingly not enough for Omar to ever catch a word of what Erik said in return.

Erik had made certain that he came into the room strictly to sleep. It made the arrangements far less irritating given their language barrier and the space they had shared for the last week.

The windowless room, which had been used to store extra fabrics, was just large enough for two cots and nothing more. The space between the two beds was less than arm's length, which meant privacy and modesty were both lacking. It was the most uncomfortable sleeping arrangements he could imagine.

Originally Erik had wanted to read at night but he feared setting both cots on fire in the process. With the way the door jammed he knew they would either suffocate or be burned alive.

He could hardly wait for the guests to leave the house so that he could once again have his own small room behind the kitchen. Erik would have rather smelled curry in the morning than Omar all night.

Erik wiggled his arms out of his overcoat and hung the garment on an iron hook outside the door. He ran his hand through his hair and yawned, wondering if telling Corinna he was tired had suddenly made it so.

He shoved his shoulder into the door and instantly pulled it shut again once he had seen Omar. He stumbled until his back was against the opposite wall. Mouth agape he stood unblinking.

Oh my God, Erik thought.

The door had not shut completely. He could still hear the woman he had seen mounted on Omar's hips moaning in pleasure. Though Erik had merely glimpsed into the shared room it seemed that every detail had been acid-burned into his mind: her titian shoulders, her sleek back, the curve of her hips lowering onto Omar's body. Erik blinked and it was all there—the spread of her thighs against his body, the braid of dark hair that slid down her spine as she rocked on him, her head tilted back as she voiced her ecstasy.

Had they even noticed the intrusion? Erik wondered. Apparently not, he thought, because they hadn't bothered to stop for his sake. He tilted his head back against the wall and made a face of utter repulsion. He half-thought he had seen enough and half-wished he had seen the woman from the front.

Shocked and appalled turned swiftly to amusement. Of course it would be Omar avoiding the engagement announcement for something more enjoyable. Erik wiped his face with his hand. The rooftop called to him. The smell of rain would wash away the tryst.


	6. The Sultana

Ch 6

Erik made his way to the rooftop without anyone noticing him. On his way up the stairs, he had glanced into the room and found the crowd packed together. Mr. Patel had been standing on a chair at the far end shouting and clapping his hands to quiet the room. The commotion was head-splitting, though Erik stood to watch for a moment and guessed at what Padir was saying to his friends and relatives.

Padir Patel spoke Hindi while some of Girish Baleeze's relatives spoke Tamil. Few of them spoke anything Erik recognized—French, German, English, bits of Spanish. He had picked up enough phrases in Persia to communicate, but not enough to feel comfortable with the language. For a while he had considered himself fortunate that the little Sultana had taken lessons in French and English.

Fortune and the Sultana, Erik thought, two words that did not go together.

The rain had not yet started to fall as Erik made his way to the rooftop, but he heard the sound of thunder as it rumbled in the distance. The tremor through the sky reminded Erik of standing before the Shah's palace. The onion-shaped towers had stolen his breath. Architecture and exotic design had driven him from France in search of places he had only known from books. The moment he stood in the courtyard beneath a white stone archway, he had known that stealing his mother's heirloom rings had been worth it.

At the time, Persia had seemed perfect in every way. He had been eighteen and thought that his advanced education increased his knowledge and power in the world. How wrong he had been. He had known nothing. The extent of his talent was reduced to floor plans and ideas stolen by his senior comrades.

Applause replaced the growl of thunder and the thoughts of Persia faded from his mind. He inhaled the scent of rain and marigolds which crowded their hammered metal bowls. The cool breeze rocked the flower containers on their brass chains.

Erik suddenly felt very lonely as he stood above the rest of the world. The engagement was official. Girish Baleeze had Anisha Patel's hand promised to him. He had barely met Anisha Patel, which made the devastation he felt in the arrangement completely unwarranted. The emptiness of the parapet bothered him. Before, when the evening had been filled with guests and points of interest, he had enjoyed the view. A line of banyan trees stood between the old Patel House and where the new one would soon be erected. Beyond that mangoes grew.

Even after a month of staring at the same West Bengal landscape, Erik still couldn't quite quell his fascination with banyan trees. They were grotesque with their vein-like branches mangled around each other. The trunk appeared stunted as the roots came up from the earth and created even more trees all tangled together. The head of Medusa, he had thought the first time he had seen the trees, the head of Medusa on a fleshless neck.

Everything in West Bengal was teetering on the edge of foreign and familiar. The little exploring he had done had shown him that economy was secondary to music and theater. Had Dareesh not been twenty kilometers from any point of interest Erik would have dove with enthusiasm into both theater and music.

Instead he was on a plantation designing a home for one of the richest men in all of West Bengal. It seemed Mr. Patel was amongst the few who valued money over art. His wife was the only reason anything hung on the walls and Erik had not yet met the woman. She was in Italy the last he had heard.

Patel's daughter more than made up for his lack of refinery. Erik squeezed his hands into fists as he pictured himself where his roommate had been earlier and withAnisha on top. He shut his eyes for a moment and peeled back the layers of silk that draped her body. What was beneath her sari but a kingdom he wanted to explore? His mouth grew dry as he pried at his lewd fantasies, slowly unraveling each fiber of his lust. He could only imagine what it would feel like to touch Anisha.

Another obsession, he thought with a rueful sigh. First the inner workings of clocks and whatever else he could disassemble around the house had caught his fancy. Then buildings and design had devoured every waking moment. His mother would have been beside herself to know her son had now found a new obsession, one which was far more dangerous than calculating floor plans. She always had sworn that she would have rather had a son that was a simpleton than one who was in constant need of stimulation.

It was a good thing he hadn't written his parents in two years. They would have been horrified to know of his travels. Besides, at this point they most likely assumed he was dead. No need to resurrect the insolent, thieving son.

A stone skittered across the ground and startled Erik back to the dreary night.

"But of course," Erik heard Ravi say from behind.

Erik rolled his eyes before he turned to face Ravi. "But of course what?"

"My uncle has been searching for you. I told him you would be up here like a king above the world."

"I had hoped to be sleeping by now."

"Oh? Thought you would try the roof?"

Erik stepped up onto the parapet and glanced at the torches below. Several guests were making their way into the night. "No. My room was…occupied."

"My uncle suggested that perhaps we take you to _Chandernagore so that you feel more at home."_

_Erik smirked to himself. He had passed through 'moon city' on his way from thriving Calcutta north to Dareesh. Chandernagore had faded over the years as Calcutta continued to grow, and the city along the Hughli River became a charming yet insignificant town._

_The highlight was that it was still under French control and Erik found that he wasn't as far from home as he had first thought. Travel to Chandernagore, however, had been brief. Just when the grand buildings staring out at the river began to inspire him it was time to travel to Dareesh and meet his new employer._

_"I have plans to submit by the end of the week. As much as I would rather be with the French than here I must seek approval for my designs."_

_"That will have to wait a week. Mr. Patel is leaving for business in the morning."_

_Erik turned to face him. "And Girish?"_

_"Gone as well." Ravi hesitated. "Anisha will meet you for discussion once her betrothed returns."_

_That meant she was staying in Dareesh, Erik speculated. The beautiful young woman would be at home while her fiancée and father were away on business. It was wicked to enjoy that thought and Erik knew it. Engaged, he told himself, forbidden fruit. _

_Ravi stepped forward as Erik maintained his pensive silence. "Forget her, Erik," he warned. "Before Mr. Patel notices, before Mr. Baleeze notices, just forget my cousin." _

Erik attempted to avoid an argument with Ravi. "Am I to travel to Chandernagore alone?"

"Corinna will most likely attend if her father doesn't send a telegram by tomorrow afternoon. You are still required to look after her though I suspect you won't have to carry that burden much longer."

"Don't insult her," Erik snapped. "It's despicable how your people haven't an ounce of respect for women."

Ravi rolled his eyes. "My people? You know nothing of my culture. I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself while you are a visitor here."

"Why are you uphere? Shouldn't you be congratulating the new couple?"

Ravi backed away toward the stairs keeping his eyes steady on Erik. "I already congratulated Mr. Baleeze and Anisha. Now I must protect her."

"From what?"

"Erik, there will be no other warning."

Erik turned away. "Warning for what? What are you insinuating. I haven't done a damned thing."

"For your own sake, be certain it stays that way."

Erik stayed on the roof for a while longer after Ravi left him. The night air had cooled considerably. Erik crossed his arms and sat down on the tile edge of a fountain, feeling a light drizzle on his hands and face. He wasn't sure if it was water from the fountain or from the dark storm clouds that rippled with lightning.

Lotus flowers swirled toward the curved edges of the fountain. Erik reached down and touched a flower and instantly regretted it. He knew that in Hindu the lotus was a symbol of purity and life. Perhaps it was best left alone.

In France Erik had only seen coins tossed into fountains. In Persia it had been fish. The sultan had giant koi, white-scales speckled with orange and black that shimmed their way through the water. Some had large, bulbous eyes and others had long tails that had reminded Erik of birds. They were only fish but were nothing like he had ever seen before.

He had been gazing at the fish when the sultana had first come to him with a request.

Only her pale green eyes had been visible. The rest of her face had been hidden behind scarves. She walked up behind him like a ghost in her leather sandals. He hadn't heard her approach until she stood behind him with a dagger at his neck and her hand across his chest.

"It is unwise for you to be so unaware," she had said. The curved blade had pressed into his throat hard enough to cause pain yet not enough to draw blood.

"My sincerest apologies," he had whispered back. He had learned enough of the sultan's daughter to know she would throw down a death sentence when it suited her mood.

The blade had lowered and she had moved to his side. Her eyes had twinkled in macabre delight. He had never seen such cold eyes before. Goosebumps had risen along his arms when he looked her in the eye. "Come, Frenchman, I have need of your talents in other areas of architecture."

Erik had followed her obediently. "What is it you need, Blessed Sultana?"

She glanced at him from over her shoulder. "A torture chamber for the insolent; one situated below my apartments."

Erik had furrowed his brow. "But the sound would come through the floors—"

"I know."

He had shivered at the honey-drip of pleasure that had resonated in her voice. She wanted to listen to the blood-letting and begging.

"I need a mirror built into the ceiling so that I may watch but none shall see me," she requested. "Can you do that?"

My God, he had thought, she wants to watch them die.

"I—I'm not certain."

"Can it be done, Frenchman?" she asked again.

Erik gave a hesitant nod. "I believe it can."

The torture chamber took seven days to design and six months to build. The mirror had been placed into the floor first so that the sultana could watch the workers and their progress. None knew that she watched them throughout the work day. No one knew she spied on them until one of the workers named Amur had disappeared.

Amur, a man who spent more time drinking from the water cup than working, became the test of the torture chamber's efficiency. Erik had stood beside the sultana for the christening. Hands clasped behind his back he watched the lights turn on one by one and illuminate the steel forest.

"How long will it take him to die?" the sultana had mused aloud.

"I don't know," Erik had replied. He glanced nervously around her apartment in an attempt to take his mind off the man screaming beneath the floor. More lamps turned on and increased the temperature. The man was roasting to death.

"If he survives six days I will release him," she had replied. She looked to Erik and saw that he no longer watched. "If in six days he still lives you have failed me. Do you know what will happen if you fail me, Frenchman?"

"I will not fail," he said to her. He leaned forward and glanced again at Amur. In less than two hours the man was already giving in to the scorching heat and his deliverance at the treetop.

The sultana had squeezed Erik's arm as Amur placed the noose around his own neck and jumped from the metal tree branch. She dug her fingernails into his bicep when the rope had stretched taut. A moan left her lips, a sound of pure pleasure in what she witnessed.

"Interesting," the sultana had whispered. "But he was weak. Build me something better, something far more pleasing. I will have ten criminals at your disposal within a week."

She had looked to Erik one last time, and though her face was veiled and her smile remained unseen, he swore she wore a sinister smile. In her jade eyes he saw a flash and knew what she wanted him to design.

If he did not comply, he would be responsible for his own death.


	7. Reduced to Nothing

_Fire Celtine, Tywyn, Tkstout and Penkitten get many thanks for their help with grammar and wording. My priceless betas! I also now have a webpage for anyone who wants to see. It's at Freewebs (dot) com with a backslash and then Gabrina. This won't let me put a link in the story._

_Back to 1870 Paris._

Ch 7

"Your hour is almost over," The Goddess said as she walked across the small room to her modest vanity. "I suppose for the money you paid I will allow you another."

Erik had not yet composed himself enough to answer. Grief still moaned from his trembling lips muffled only by his hands over his face.

The Goddess left Erik to his misery and sat before her vanity. She turned the lamp up again and slid her shoes from her feet. Her fingers danced along small jewelry boxes and perfume bottles crowded on top of the glass surface. The Goddess sighed to herself as she waited for him to either sit up and demand that she sing or cry himself to sleep. He had been humiliated enough and had confessed to something he never wanted to tell a whore he had paid to sing for him. She would not ask him to return to the streets yet.

The Goddess took a silver hairbrush from amongst the clutter and ran the boar bristles through her long straight hair.

_Yes and no_, he had said. He loved Mademoiselle Daae and he did not.

The Goddess twisted around to see if Erik had moved yet. Her hand gripped the scrolled iron back of the chair and she frowned. She turned back to her vanity and rummaged through a box of small rags.

The velvet red throne she used had burn marks along the back. The Goddess assumed it had been salvaged from the old opera house and dragged to the small apartment. She hadn't been home at the time it arrived but there was no mistaking who had delivered the gift. A blood red rose lay atop the seat, thorns removed and velvet petals dusted in tiny snowflakes.

Despite the cold the rose had survived two weeks inside a cup of water. Not one petal had withered. Then one day she returned from market and every petal had fallen from the stem.

The chair had arrived the day after Erik had first approached her. Eyes downcast he had nervously walked into the darkened room, murmuring that he did not come in search of physical relief. Once Erik had discovered there was no place else to sit he had resorted to the bed.

Erik had looked somewhat childlike on the very edge of the bed with his hands clasped and head bowed. He had not looked at her once as she sang. He closed his eyes and merely listened, forcing himself to show no interest in her physically.

"Yes and no," the Goddess said under her breath. She wanted to know more. "You admit your love for Ms. Daae…but you deny it as well."

No reply came. She was beginning to think her phantom had cried himself to sleep on the floor. The sobbing had ended, the hiccups gone until nothing existed save utter, miserable silence.

"There are many women here," The Goddess said. She took a rouge-stained handkerchief and cleaned a spot in the glass to see her reflection. "Some younger, some older, some fairer…some who may offer more than I. A woman for each fantasy, even one for a chorus girl turned diva. Why, I wonder, would you come to me?"

The Goddess walked to the bed and lay on her stomach, bare feet dangling over one side of the bed and arms hanging over the other above his body.

"She was East Indian, wasn't she?" Her hand dipped down, fingers skimming along the sleeve of his overcoat. He shuddered at the sensation and exhaled sharply.

"What was it about her that you desired?"

"I didn't mean it," he said meekly. He glanced at her from over his shoulder, gaze fixed on her swollen lip. "I didn't try to hit you. Forgive me, Goddess."

The Goddess made no reply. She had only seen him a handful of times over the last few months but never in such disrepair.

"You are not taking care of yourself," she said quietly. "Your clothes, your hair…you haven't shaved in days. For the money you bring to my door you should dress like a prince."

Shamed, Erik closed his eyes and nodded. She watched him a while. For such a tall man, for such a broad-chested individual, he was reduced to nothing.

"How many years has it been?" The Goddess asked. He still did not reply. "How many years, Erik?" she asked firmly.

He hesitated, mouth opening and closing again. The Goddess moved her finger from behind his ear to his shoulder. "Fifteen," he answered. "Fifteen years."

"Fifteen years. Ah, then she did come before Christine Daae. Tell me everything about this woman," The Goddess purred. She stepped over him and knelt down at his side. His eyes opened briefly as she took his hand.

"Obey me," she whispered.

The Goddess moved his fingers a hairsbreadth from her cheek. "Tell me the color of her eyes. Tell me how her skin felt." She breathed on his hand and felt him pull away.

"I promised you," he whispered.

"No more promises. I never asked for your promises." The Goddess grazed the tips of his fingers along the silken edge of her bodice where the deep valleys of her breast rested. She moved his fingernails over her flesh. "Tell me how her heartbeat felt against your own." She turned his hand and touched his knuckles to the corset's boning contorting her frame, down the trail of embroidered satin along her midriff. "Tell me how she whispered your name in the heat of passion." His hand rested against her knees, fingers curled tightly into his palm.

"Was she forbidden?" The Goddess whispered.

"You don't know what you do," Erik said in return. He kept his voice low to mask the tremble of uncertainty, the sheer fear of being so near his desire.

"I know what I do. I am your Goddess, your Goddess Noir, the dream of night and decadence. Why do you deny yourself?"

He recoiled from her presence. "I must deny myself. There is no other way."

"Sit up," the Goddess demanded. "I'm tired of you lazing around my floor."

Without protest he sat upright. "I'll give a thousand francs if you let me stay here for the night. I'll stay right here on the floor. I won't move. I won't touch you. I swear it, Goddess, but please just let me stay. Just for another hour. Two at the most," he said frantically.

He reached out for her hand but stopped himself and turned away again. The pain he felt twisted the visible side of his face into something unrecognizable.

"Who hit you?" The Goddess asked once he turned. On the masked side of his face, just below his cheek, was a bruise along his neckline. Erik closed his eyes again and drew in a breath as she stroked the dark edge of the injury. The mark appeared black in the dim light. "You were hit by a fist. Is that what happened, a fist to your neck?"

He nodded, his lips trembling again.

"Who hit you?"

Erik's chin touched his chest and The Goddess knew she would receive no answer. Not yet.

"Look at me," The Goddess demanded. She touched the divot in his chin and drew his face to hers. Tears had formed again, clinging to his eyelashes. He took several deep breaths and forced his eyes to open, forced the cowardice away at last.

The Goddess had not noticed the dark circle beneath his left eye. She had not seen the red veins threaded through what should have been the whites or the glassy appearance of his sullen gaze. He was exhausted.

"Where have you been sleeping? The opera house?"

He shook his head.

"Where then?"

"Nowhere."

"For how long?"

"I don't know." He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle the next unbidden sob. His body shuddered with such violent force that The Goddess thought he would be sick. Erik turned away and apologized to her between his struggles to breathe. "I don't want to do this," he whispered. "I only want to hear your voice."

The Goddess sat on the floor with her legs outstretched. Softly she began to hum a song she remembered from the end of her childhood. Erik's head lowered, shoulders dropping as she did what he had come for. Her mouth opened as the words came back to her and she sang, soft and clear. A lullaby. A gentle nudge of her hand pitched him to the side. Once he realized his head rested against her legs he attempted to move but she firmly pressed on his shoulder and he relented. Her hand remained between his shoulder and his neck where she could feel his body move with each breath. Slowly she sang to him, stroking his jaw.

_Hush no more fear_

_Hush I am here  
In night and in dreams_

_Nothing is what it seems_

_Hush close your eyes_

_Hush do not cry_

_In dreams I am here_

_In night no more fears_

"I offer you something real," The Goddess cooed. Erik jolted awake again as the song ended. "No more fantasies, no more longing. Something made of flesh and blood and silk and satin. Do you want to feel my heartbeat? Do you want to have the world for your taking? Lay back. Let me take you across the seas, let me bring you to the Baltic Sea and my homeland."

Erik glanced into her dark eyes and shuddered. "I don't want to go back."

His eyes closed and he slept with his fist holding tight to her silk skirt. The Goddess laid her head back and closed her eyes. He whispered a name in sleep, a name he had not spoken in years.


	8. Lion in the Brush

1855 India again. The last chapter had Erik falling asleep on The Goddess's lap. The chapter before that Erik was warned by Ravi Patel (Anisha's cousin) to stay away from her.

Ch 8

_A wisp of dream clung to Erik's mind, a recollection of a whip and a knife. _

_There had been fire. _

_Blistering flames, coal black smoke and screaming…then silence. Silence only because there was death and no one left to scream. Silence because there was only a woman on a balcony, a woman draped in pale gray with her face covered, with every inch of flesh covered. She clapped her hands and broke the silence with an echoing applause that cut through Erik's mind._

_Power to end silence, to end lives, to end freedom. A woman of endless power and dark dreams…dark like the smoke, darker than hell…darker than what Erik felt writhing in his belly. _

_"Well done, Frenchman," the little Sultana said thickly. "I will bring you more criminals tomorrow."_

_He bowed, walked from her view, and vomited in a flower pot. _

_You sicken yourself, even._

There was a peacock strutting past when Erik woke from his nightmare. He could still see the Sultana's jade eyes in the back of his mind. He had seen such danger in her beautiful eyes, such lifelessness and cruelty in her gaze. She transfixed him and alarmed him with one bat of an eye.

"Forget her. She isn't here," he muttered to himself.

By the pallid calm of the sky it was probably an hour after sunrise. The last thing he remembered was the confrontation with Ravi, which made waking up on the rooftop a small surprise. He hadn't attended the engagement announcement, he knew. There had been wine served but not nearly enough to erase the evening. The last thing he remembered for certain was silently swearing he would think nothing else of Anisha. Ravi, though short-tempered with him over the last day, had been a good translator and guide. He was the second oldest man living in the home and demanded respect. With reluctance, Erik agreed to honor the request.

Erik inhaled deeply and sat up, arching his back. His spine crunched into place and he groaned. His back was sore and his hair slightly damp. The air, even for the hour of the day, was already humid and sticky, slowly edging toward hot. In the month he had been in Dareesh he had learned that this part of India had thick air that was akin to breathing water. Building a new home for Anisha and Girish was going to be a miserable task. A visit to the rock quarry had been unpleasant and that was before anything had been harvested.

While he awakened, Erik glanced around. Fractured sunlight made freckled patterns on the wicker lounger where he sat. The shade beneath the waffle-pattern overhang had been welcomed as he sat and made his calculations for the new homestead. Mr. Patel had strictly forbidden his six daughters to bother the architect while he was at work. Hour after hour Erik worked diligently to create plans for a plantation palace. When Mr. Patel and Mr. Baleeze returned from business, Erik would present his work. Already he had two plans finished but he had hoped to have three designs prepared. The trip to Chandernagore would either inspire him or encourage foolery.

Erik had a feeling the company in the French settlement would play a great factor in whether or not he was truly at rest or still at work. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy planning buildings. There was a sense of power in knowing he created the walls and floors, the corridors and layouts people would inhabit. It was almost god-like. He had always been like his father in that sense: power was pleasure. What could be better than power?

However, his age prevented totalitarian power and that irritated him. Men smoking pipes and drinking brandy would squint at his ideas and scrutinize certain small things, or make ridiculous requests.

Erik no longer wanted to think of those employers. He had found his way to Persia by dumb luck and impressed the Sultan's advisor with a pompous attitude and a small trick of deception in a marketplace. As more of a novelty than anything the advisor, Rameed, had delivered Erik to the Sultan's palace. The two men spoke for quite some time and ignored Erik, though they laughed often and gestured in his direction occasionally.

When they asked what he did besides fool peddlers out of goods, Erik had answered with a crooked smile, "I build homes for wealthy men, such as Sultans."

His self-assured attitude had brought him commission for two years. Being in favor with the Sultan had built him a small fortune, one of which was now in the hands of Mr. Desai, Corinna's father. As long as Corinna was unharmed when he returned, Sanjeev had sworn the funds would be returned. It was a desperate bargain. Erik knew he would have died three months ago on the executioner's block had he not agreed.

Erik shuddered at the thought. He had expected something sinister from Mr. Desai when he promised to smuggle Erik out of Persia but nothing had happened. Erik had found himself in London for a week, then on a boat heading to India where Mr. Desai had set up work for him, employment he said would take a year. After the home was complete he was free to find labor in India or return to France.

France did not interest him. Italy was where he expected to settle, in the heart of music and art. Perhaps in a few years he would take his newfound knowledge and educate the Parisians. Take a student, he mused to himself, turn a few little sparrows to songbirds, a herd of cows into ballet dancers. He would do something for France, something that would never be forgotten.

Dreams! Decadent, foolish dreams just as his father always said. A muddled, eccentric brain clouded with all sorts of silly ideas. He would become nothing in the end if his father had predicted correctly.

No, he would not return to France. Not for a long, long time.

A strange sound filled his ears as he rose from the makeshift bed and yawned. He didn't want to think about his parents or the Sultan or anything else for that matter. Chanting, without direction, came faintly on the lazy morning breeze. The sound was hypnotizing, a serum of the mind that drew him to the edge of the rooftop.

Omar and another man Erik didn't know were walking cattle toward the fields.

Omar, he remembered. He had returned to their shared room around two in the morning and heard Omar and the woman laughing. Exhausted, he had returned to the rooftop, moved the wicker lounger beneath the slatted overhang and fallen asleep. The storm had passed overhead without more than a light drizzle of rain but the lightning show had been mesmerizing. Bolts flashed through the indigo night like whips flailing overhead.

Like whips.

The Sultana.

Erik shuddered. He moved one hand behind his back and slipped his fingers beneath his shirt. The scar was still there along his right hip. He dragged his finger along the scar as it passed over his spine. The scar was still there.

The Sultana had been real.

Now that he was fully awake, Erik couldn't shake the Sultana from his mind. Weeks had passed since Erik had jolted awake in bed, body soaked with sweat and a scream threatening to leave his lips.

"She's still here," he muttered to himself.

"Good morning," a woman said.

Erik jumped back from the parapet and turned to face Anisha. She stood with her hand catching water from the fountain. Her hair was braided and she wore an undecorated tangerine sari. She smiled enigmatically, apparently amused by the fact that she had startled him.

"Good morning," Erik replied. He glanced around and saw that she was alone. "What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed on the rooftop of my father's home?"

Erik half-smiled. "You're…alone."

She shrugged. "You're here. Or don't you count?"

"That isn't what I meant." He glanced about again and shaded his eyes with a hand at his brow. "I've rarely seen women unescorted."

Anisha moved away from the fountain. "Do I need to be protected from you?" she mocked. "Or was my Uncle Sanjeev right about trusting you?"

"Your uncle is a good man."

Anisha sauntered forward, keeping her eyes on his as she neared. Every step she took toward him stole the breath from his throat.

Her skin looked freshly clean, but her eyes, per tradition, were still smeared with black. She had beautiful, coal black eyes twinkling in the early morning light. Erik had never seen such ravishing, almond-shaped eyes in his life, such depth and beauty. Such…power….

Erik's heart raced, his promise to Ravi Patel suddenly seeming impossible. He was completely smitten with Anisha. He barely knew the young woman but couldn't take his eyes away from her.

She stood at arm's length. "So tell me, Monsieur…"

"Levesque. Erik Levesque."

A smile slithered onto her face. "Monsieur Levesque, are you a dangerous man?"

Erik was slow to reply. He sensed danger, like a zebra catching the faintest stench of a lion in waiting. Two years spent with the little Sultana made him wary of such innocent questions.

When he did reply, he had a query of his own. "Where did your fiancé and father go?"

"Persia," Anisha answered.

A wisp of dream clung to Erik's mind, a recollection of regret.


	9. The Warning and the Ferry to Chandernago...

Ch 9

"Eck."

Ursula, Corinna's companion, stood at the top of the stairs. She made a short bow toward Anisha then said his name again. "Eck, Corinna."

Corinna was looking for him. At least a dozen times a day, as they traveled from London to Calcutta, Ursula would approach him and hiss 'Eck'. It was normally followed by a sharp motion of her hand telling him he should come with her. Not once had he disobeyed. Ursula's stern glare reminded him too much of his mother, with a wooden spoon in her hand.

Erik glanced back at Anisha. "I—I'm sorry. This is rude."

She shook her head. "I heard you are playing nursemaid to my cousin. How very noble of you to protect her from harm. Perhaps you will be my guardian as well?"

"What could happen in a week?"

Anisha raised a brow. "A week? No, no, no. Papa will be gone for two months and Mr. Baleeze will be gone for six. They have business, lots of business in Persia."

The longer she spoke the more uncomfortable Erik became. Promises, he reminded himself, he had made promises. This was a woman destined to be married to a very wealthy, powerful man. Her father was a wealthy, powerful man. Erik was starting anew after fleeing Persia. He couldn't risk anything, least of all a mangled mess of desire. It was only desire, he said to himself, sinful lust and nothing more. He couldn't be in love with a woman he didn't know.

"You have Ravi to look after you," he pointed out, squinting at her as the sun hit his eyes.

Anisha tilted her head to the side. "Ah yes, my dear cousin Ravi. Well, since you have a little charge to look after, you'd best find Corinna. Who knows what trouble she will cause if she's left unattended."

"I apologize for being terribly rude. Have a good day," Erik answered awkwardly. He gathered his overcoat and waistcoat from where they lay in a makeshift pillow and headed toward Ursula.

"We'll meet each other again soon. Lunch, perhaps."

"We're going to Chandernagore today, I think."

"I see." She frowned. "I was hoping to see the plans for my new home with the architect my father and uncle are quite smitten with."

"Yes, well—"

"Enjoy then." Anisha smiled again, dark eyes shining in the sunlight as she followed him. "Chandernagore. Haven't been there in a while," she mused.

A whip of conscience lashed through Erik's mind. He turned again and saw Ursula staring coldly at him. He nodded to her and trotted to the stairs where she waited in frigid silence.

* * *

Once they were halfway down the narrow staircase, Ursula grabbed his arm and stopped him. She pushed him until his back was against the wall. If she could have understood his words, he would have told her to stop. Ursula stared him directly in the eyes. She dragged her finger along her neck then pointed to the rooftop.

"No speak, no nothing," Ursula snapped. She nodded to the bottom of the stairs. "Corinna waits."

Erik nodded and ran his hand along the back of his neck. The hairs stood on end.

Corinna was walking out of the kitchen as Ursula led Erik into the foyer. This was the part of the Patel House he enjoyed the most. The foyer floor was made of marble with a blue and white tiled fountain set in front of the door. Two potted palms graced either side of the doorway, and Erik had installed a small round window in the ceiling on the second day he had been in Dareesh. The window allowed light to filter onto the fountain and made the water sparkle. The ambiance was calming, the lines of the walls and floors in perfect symmetry. He had even gotten down on his hands and knees and measured the distance between the pots and the doorway to make certain everything was precisely placed.

"You look terrible," Corinna commented. She handed him a glass of lemonade and crossed her arms.

"Flattery so early in the morning?" he replied dryly. He sipped at the lemonade and thanked her for the welcomed treat.

Corinna smirked. "I knocked on your door a half-hour ago and a woman came out. I waited a moment for you to dress and peeked inside. Omar yelled at me and said you hadn't returned to the room all night."

Ursula said something Erik didn't understand. She gestured toward him and rolled her eyes, which made him assume she said nothing flattering.

"You were on the roof all night?"

Erik glared at Ursula. "I fell asleep."

"Why didn't you go back to your room? You were headed downstairs."

"You saw my reason for leaving the room this morning."

Corinna covered her mouth. Her cheeks and forehead turned red with embarrassment. "If Uncle Padir was home….Well, never mind what he would do." She turned to Ursula again and said something else in Hindu which Erik didn't understand. Ursula nodded and walked to the kitchen without so much as another glance at Erik.

"Have you heard from your father yet?" Erik asked.

Corinna shook her head. "Not yet." She headed for the stairs and looked back at Erik to make certain he followed. "He said very nice things about you when he last wrote to Uncle Padir. Did Uncle show you the letter?"

"No, it was in Hindu, but Mr. Patel told me about it." Erik replied.

"Papa doesn't recommend many men for work, especially Europeans. He must really like you. I can't imagine why," she teased.

Erik ignored her playful attempts. "So….your father is returning from London and your uncle is headed to Persia on business?"

"Is he?"

"He is."

"How do you know?" Corinna asked.

"I heard."

"From Uncle Padir?"

They stood before the room Erik shared with Omar. Erik scratched his head and hesitated. "No, I haven't seen him since last night."

"Who told you then?"

"One of his daughters."

Corinna blew air past her lips. "Anisha?"

Erik tried again. "What business does he have in Persia?"

"It's improper for you to be speaking with her alone. She's spoken for, Monsieur Levesque."

He cringed at her formality. It seemed to Erik that Corinna only referred to him by his title and last name when she was angry with him. Erik knew she would not give him information as to what Mr. Patel and Mr. Baleeze were doing in Persia.

"I didn't do anything."

"Who was with her?"

Erik stammered.

"No one. Ursula already told me."

His irritation grew. "First of all, I don't answer to you. Secondly, she appeared on the roof this morning. What was I supposed to do? Jump off the parapet?"

Corinna giggled. "You'll only give Mr. Baleeze ideas. Now hurry and get dressed. We leave for the ferry in two hours. Or do you not want to go to Chandernagore?"

* * *

By the time they made it to the ferry, the sun was high and hot in the sky. The brown water lapped against its sides as the small, flat wooden watercraft bumbled north to Chandernagore. Erik lay with his back against ropes and folded canvas. He had placed his hat over his face to block the sun. With only Corinna able to speak French and English, Erik decided to nap a while.

Corinna and Ursula conversed with the twelve other passengers on the craft. Between dreams, Erik heard snippets of their conversation. One man and one woman were French. They were telling Corinna about the theatre in Chandernagore and Corinna was translating the conversation to Ursula. Erik listened on and off until he heard the woman say her husband's name: Joseph.

Based on the content of their conversation, Erik knew who they were: Joseph and Lilie DeChantel. Erik's father had worked for the DeChantels for several years before he lost his hand to an accident with a carriage horse. After the accident, Erik had not seen the DeChantels. Five years had passed since his father nearly died from infection.

In happier times, Joseph's father, Joseph Sr., had given Erik his first violin lesson at the age of six. The elder DeChantel had fostered Erik's love for music, one which his parents found frivolous following Monsieur Leveque's disfigurement. They had refused to continue his lessons and had discouraged his obsession with the arts.

"You know, on Thursday night they're performing Balfe's _Bohemian Girl_," Joseph DeChantel boasted. "It's monumental, that's what it is. If Lilian and I weren't patrons of the arts, West Bengal would be waiting another twenty years for Balfe, Wagner…we really are instrumental here."

Erik grinned beneath his hat. He remembered why he hated going to the DeChantel House. While generous, they were the most pompous people Erik had ever met. They were gods in their own little world and had no intention of letting anyone forget it.

"With so many French on board, I'm surprised the ferry hasn't capsized," Erik said as he sat up.

Joseph and Lilie turned and gawked at Erik. He had never seen Madame DeChantel but she looked pleasant enough. Erik hadn't seen Joseph since they were fifteen years old but aside from filling out, he was the same youth Erik remembered.

"Erik Levesque? What in God's name are you doing here?" Joseph asked. He jogged up to Erik and shook his hand.

"Designing a house."

"Oh. I didn't know you had pursued architecture. If your parents had their druthers, you'd be driving a coach."

"Most likely. What are you doing here?"

"My wife is doing the work of our Lord while I, my dearest friend, am promoting the work of the most talented musicians and composers. Nicholas Jevesky is in Chandernagore. Have you heard of him?"

"Yes, heard of him but I've never met him."

"We're meeting him for lunch. You should join us." He glanced behind at the three women still standing beneath a shabby canvas overhang. "Let me introduce you to my wife, Lilian."

Lilian DeChantel was a plump but lovely young woman. She was dwarfed by her tall, thin husband. She stood with her hands clutching her small handbag and a little white dog Erik hadn't noticed until halfway through the conversation. She laughed at everything Erik said, making her ringlets bob and her gold earrings swing.

Erik had a feeling he would like Lilie. She laughed like one of his younger cousins.

For being married to a DeChantel, Lillie was exceptionally nice. She was familiar with opera, as was expected of a DeChantel, but her passion, she said, was theater. Calcutta had delighted her. The Oriental Theatre had been her favorite, though the Hindu Theatre was where she and Joseph had made their first donation.

Already Erik found it a joy to be around his kinsmen. Chandernagore would do him good. He needed music to calm his soul. He needed to be away from temptation for awhile.


	10. A Far Way From Home

_Please vote for A Heart that Waits, A Heart that Bleeds on www(dot)freewebs(dot)com(backslash)phanficawards_

_The link is on my website. I'm in Romance Category 2._

Ch 10

Children were swimming nude in the river when the ferryboat lurched its way to the dock on Hughli River. A small Indian girl, no older than five or six, stood sucking on her fingers and waving to the passengers.

Over the course of the afternoon Erik had entertained Corinna and Lilian, and even Ursula, with several coin tricks that elicited 'oohs' and shrieks of joy from the ladies. They were easily entertained, which Erik enjoyed. He noticed several other people onboard craning their necks to get a look at his illusions. He enjoyed being the center of attention. He was amazed that even Ursula had shed her sullen expression for several moments.

"How long are you staying in India?" Joseph DeChantel asked once the women took to fanning themselves and chatting about their clothes.

Erik, Joseph and Lilian stood out in their European garb. Even in the shade, the air was unbearably warm. Dressed in waistcoats and fine white shirts it was impossible to find relief from the heat.

"A year. And you?" Erik questioned. He ran a handkerchief over his brow again and blew air past his lips.

Joseph shrugged. "Several months at the most. The little wife has missionary work in Africa. It's inspiring to see such a petite thing so interested in saving the souls of the godless." Joseph nudged Erik in the ribs and whispered. "You should think about coming with us. You know many of those African tribal women don't wear anything more than a loin cloth."

Erik raised a brow. "So along with a Bible, you provide a blouse, corset, petticoats and drawers, I suppose?"

Joseph's laugh reverberated over the wide river. "Not exactly. So you're building a house?"

Erik smirked. "A palace."

"You always were pompous."

Erik's lips straightened. He had forgotten how insulting Joseph DeChantel could be sometimes. "It's for the Patel Family."

"Never heard of them."

"They're gold exporters. Mr. Padir Patel owns a plantation in Dareesh."

"Interesting, really, simply fascinating, Erik."

"Thank you," Erik replied blandly. He knew full well that Joseph wasn't even listening.

"Well, luck to you in building your 'palace'—your Indian Palace, eh?" Joseph laughed. "You'll have to tell Lilian all about your building when you come to lunch with us tomorrow. We're only in Chandernagore until Friday morning and then it's off to Calcutta again."

"It would be my pleasure."

"Good. She enjoys little things like that. You know how women are, don't you? Of course you do. I saw that little Indian girl…very nice, you scoundrel. Building a harem as well, are you?"

"I'm looking after her," Erik answered in wide-eyed defensiveness. He pushed his shirt sleeves up, preparing for another insult and a reason to turn to fisticuffs.

"Sure, sure, I know how it is. Oh, say, we're docking. We'll see you tomorrow for lunch at the Chateau." Joseph slapped Erik hard on the back, winked, and went to find his wife.

It was only after Joseph left that Erik let out a sight of disgust. He hadn't meant to agree to lunch. He hadn't meant to agree to anything at all. His initial elation of seeing a familiar face had all but left him.

Corinna came up beside Erik after the boat was docked. She stood back and watched several men unload trunks and boxes from the ferry. "What was that all about?" she asked.

"Nothing more than a pig in fine clothing," he mumbled. He offered his arm. "I agreed to lunch with the DeChantels. I hope you and Ursula don't mind."

"I agreed to see _Bohemian Girl_ Thursday night," Corinna replied. "I hope you don't mind."

Erik only smiled in return. "Next time, we come to an agreement before we plan."

"Yes, husband," Corinna smirked.

* * *

Chandernagore bustled with French men and women shopping and selling wares. Music carried over the river from a small assembly of violinists and cellists that had situated themselves before a small café. 

The Hughli riverfront was lined with elegant old houses, most of which had been erected after the British had lost the settlement to the French in 1816. Almost forty years later, all memory of the British had been erased. It was the only part of West Bengal where the English no longer ruled. The French no longer claimed the territory though the influence was still evident in the smells and sounds threaded through the streets. The mix of citizens was balanced between East Indians and French settlers which Erik saw had delighted Corinna.

Erik looked and felt a long way from home. He didn't want to be reminded of home. The last year spent in France had been disastrous, as had the two years he had spent in Persia. If anything, it suddenly seemed very depressing to hear French spoken in all directions. He had left the country as a disgrace to his family.

He had thoughtof his parents often over the last weeks. His father hadn'tfelt well after he had lost his hand. The old man had appeared weathered, his leathery sun-bronzed skin had paled as he locked himselfinside the house and shut the windows in the parlor. The rugs began to smell like cheap brandy, the curtains like stale cigar smoke. Days would pass and the elder Levesque would not emerge from his hole.

Erik couldn't understand how anyone could live in darkness and seclusion. A miserable existence, he thought, for a man who had once been respected. Losing a hand had taken away his father's will to live.

Arguments hadbegun in the Levesque home. Monsieur Levesque emerged from the parlor once in a drunken stupor and had driven his remaining hand into a wall. He was useless and melancholy. Erik, as the only child in the house, was expected to work but he hadpreferred music and art. He spent hours a day playing the organ at the DeChantel house and creatingplans for buildings with Monsieur DeChantel.

Erik hadn't told his parents of how Monsieur DeChantel had been teaching him design, how he had introduced him to Monsieur Lefuel and encouraged his desire to become an architect. Erik knew he would have to attend university—and that his parents would never allow such a thing—but he wanted it. And when he wanted something, nothing in the world would stop him.

When he returned to his home each night, only angry words would pass between Erik and his mother. She told him to take up the work his father had done for the DeChantels instead of entertaining himself.

_"You are a selfish, selfish miserable ingrate! Your father needs you," his mother had said when she met him at the doorway._

_"He doesn't even know what I do. He doesn't know anything at all."_

_"You must make money or we will lose our home."_

_"I will take up work in the opera. I'll audition to play in the orchestra."_

_"The opera? You are a coach driver. Why would they have you play in the orchestra? Yu have no talent, Erik, you are a man of horses."_

_"I will not become a simple coach driver. I want to build, andI want to be a musician—"_

_"You are a Levesque, not a Wagner, not a Mozart, not a Visconti or Lefuel. A servant, Erik, you are a dreamer and a servant." She slapped his ears back until the left one streamed with blood. "Your father has told you the same thing."_

_"Madame DeChantel said I show talent in music and Monsieur DeChantel said I am a natural at design."_

_"Your work is with a horse and carriage, not a damned violin and not a ridiculous organ."_

_"Why would I want to do the work that destroyed him?"_

_"Don't talk back to me. Dreamer, dreamer, dreamer! There is no money in dreams! You'll starve for your foolishness!"_

_"A dreamer? No. I will do this whether you like it or not," he said as he cupped his hand over his ear. "I will be a musician, I will build things—"_

_"Where, Erik? Where will you build things?"_

_"Wherever I wish."_

_She had hesitated long enough for her French blood to boil over. "Get out of my house and don't return until these foolish dreams have died and you have come to your senses."_

_"I will never return. Not for as long as I live. You and Father no longer exist in my mind."_

_She had slapped him across the face and spit on him. Without another word he left with two of her rings in his pocket and headed to a shipyard. There had been no sense of remorse, not until he had stood with his hands bound behind his back and an execution warrant read by the Sultan's chief advisor, Rameed. It was then Erik felt as though he had failed, just as his parents had expected from a simple dreamer._

"Ursula said she isn't feeling well. She should rest a while," Corinna commentedwhen they were walking down the main street toward an old inn her uncle co-owned.

Erik nodded, startled from his daydreams. His mother had been correct. He was a dreamer, a young man of boundless ambition. Thinking of her as they walked alongdiminished his confidence. In the three years since he had left home, he had not designed anything he was proud of enough to call his own.

"Was it the river?" he asked absently.

Corinna turned to Ursula and the two exchanged words. Erik watched children run down the street with a large black dog until Corinna squeezed his arm.

"She said it was the sun and the boat."

"Perhaps she should eat something."

When Corinna told Ursula what Erik had suggested, Ursula moaned and pointed at her stomach. She shook her head, which was answer enough for Erik.

They crossed a bridge and stood before a whitetwo-story building, with columns on either side of a red door. The inn was called the Sanoir House after the man who had originally built it. Ravi had sent a telegram to the manager to let him know two roomswould be neededfor Erik, Corinna and Ursula.

Once they made it up the stairs to the double doors Ursula stumbled. She managed to seat herselfin a wicker chair with Corinna standing over her.

"What happened?" Erik asked. He took off his hat and fanned Ursula while Corinna used her hands to do the same.

"She's dizzy. She'll be fine. Why don't you see aboutour rooms?"

Erik hesitated. Ursula was still sitting in the sun. He grabbed the back of the chair and pulled her toward the building where she was in the shade.

"Call if you need anything," he said before he disappeared inside the building.

* * *

"That man is trouble," Ursula groaned with her eyes closed. She sat with her head tilted back while Corinna fanned her. 

"He is not. He's a gentleman. He moved you into the shade so you would feel better."

"Your father shouldn't have sent us with a stranger. He could be dangerous."

Corinna tisked her companion. "He's been good to us, Ursula, and he made a promise to my father to watch over me. It's been two months and look! We're both still safe."

"How do you think your father wouldfeel aboutthe way you look at that man?"

"I don't look at him any different than I do Ravi."

"Pah!" Ursula exclaimed. She opened her eyes and groaned after her sudden outburst and turned her head to the side. "Your father said he rescued him from Persia. He must be a man of questionable integrity."

"Papa exaggerates. You must remember he considers you rescued from poverty."

"Well, Mr. Lavesque will need rescuing from Dareesh if he continues to ogle Anisha. You know why Ravi sent him here, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," Corinna said with a roll of her eyes. "Is this why you said you weren't feeling well?"

"Don't do anything foolish. He's not worth the trouble, Corinna. He'll only disrespect you while his eyes remain on his true prey."

"You make him sound like a tiger waiting in a tree."

Ursula raised a brow but said nothing.

"You stay here. I'll see if I can find you cool water."

"Corinna," Ursula warned.

"Water! I'm only looking for water."

Corinna passed through the doorwayas Erik was returning to check on them. She blushed and turned away.

"How is Ursula?"

"She will survive," Corinna answered with her back to him. Her heart had started to pound faster, her palms turning clammy in his presence. She couldn't help but smile.

"What? Are you ill as well?" Erik questioned.

Corinna turned and did her best to look him in the eye with a straight face. "No, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Maybe you should lie down for a while."

"Yes, maybe I should."

"Shall I escort you to bed?"

"I don't think that would be appropriate."

He gave her a strange look but said nothing.

"Ursula and I will walk together."

He half-smiled, though by the look in his eyes he was still concerned. "I'll check on you soon. Stay in bed until I return. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I know."

_At least he noticed me_, Corinna thought. With Anisha back home in Dareesh, Corinna secretly hoped Erik would notice evenmore of her in Chandernagore.

This was her chance. This was her time to reach for his heart.


	11. Wounded Tiger

Because it's been a few days, here's what happened last:

Corinna, Ursula and Erik made it to Chandernagore. Ursuala warned Corinna not to get too close to Erik but Corinna couldn't help but want Erik to notice her.

Ch 11

_"You remind me of a man."_

_"Excuse me?" _

_Erik laughed. He sat on the ship stairs and stared up at Corinna, shading his eyes from the sun by leaning into her shadow. The sun was starting to set over the Mediterranean Sea on the third day they had known each other. In sheer boredom, he had decided to tease Corinna the way he had teased some of the girls back in France. He wasn't accustomed to going more than a few hours without conversation. Three days of polite nonsense left him craving light-hearted banter. _

_"No, no. You say 'What man?'"_

_"Why?" Corinna asked. Ursula asked her something and Corinna shrugged._

_"Just say it."_

_Corinna relented. "What man?"_

_"The man with the power."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"You're ruining my fun. Just repeat what I say. Make it a question, though."_

_Corinna turned away. "I don't know what you want me to say."_

_"Say 'what power.'"_

_"Are you mocking me?"_

_"No! It's just…it's just something absurd, but no, I'm not mocking you."_

_She sighed. "What power?"_

_"The power of voodoo."_

_"Voodoo?"_

_"You do."_

_"I do what?"_

_"Remind me of a man."_

_Corinna stared at Erik for a moment before she walked away shaking her head. He heard her laugh as she walked through a door and headed below deck._

_Finally he had heard laughter, the true sound of mirth. For three years he had heard sinister chuckles, dark, foreboding sounds. Hearing Corinna laugh meant Erik had left Persia for good._

Erik smiled to himself at the memory as he removed his waistcoat and shirt and tossed them over a chair.

Brows furrowed, Erik stared at his reflection in the mirror. There was a trailing scar along his stomach that had been there as long as he could remember. He traced the thin marking, following the jagged line as it dipped beneath his naval and disappeared beneath his trousers. He didn't recall the original injury hurting. He remembered the fall from a peach tree with terrifyingly vivid recollection but nothing of what happened afterward.

The mark on his lower back was different. Erik shuddered and forced himself to turn and look in the mirror. He needed to make sure the wound had stayed closed. It had been days since he had looked at the healing scar for signs of redness. Two weeks had passed since he had found a streak of blood on his shirt.

The flogging had only been the beginning. He was supposed to have had his eyes removed. He was supposed to have been castrated.

He was supposed to be dead.

* * *

Erik had been uncertain when Mr. Desai had said he wanted Erik to take Corinna and Ursula from London back to their second home in India. He would have preferred to hand Mr. Desai the floor plans to the Sultan's palace than journey anywhere.

But he had nowhere to go except the executioner's block.

He couldn't return to his home in France. The ties to his parents had been severed beyond repair. The little Sultana had left a bad taste in his mouth and several painful wounds on his back. Both were enough to keep him far from the land that had once been his dream.

India.

The more Erik thought about it, the better it sounded. He would find refuge in India.

He needed solace.

* * *

The Sultan had been impressed with the concept of his palace. He had been delighted in his discovery of such young talent. With a nod from the shah-of-shahs, Erik was given permission to build a palace of mystery and misery, of sliding walls and hidden places. The seventeen-year-old Parisian had devised a labyrinthine world where the Sultan could spy on his odalisques through two-way mirrors.

In the end, Erik had even impressed himself. Two years of spending afternoons with Monsieur DeChantel had refined Erik's natural talent. The completed palace had earned him praise and the promise of his own harem, which had sounded better than money to a man who had just turned twenty.

A month after the project had been completed Erik expected he would receive payment for his three years of diligence. He had planned to leave Persia, design his own opera house and pursue his second love: music.

Instead, four men came to his chambers and arrested him by order of the little Sultana, the Sultan's favorite wife.

She had come to witness the arrest. Beneath the veil he had sensed her smile. Her eyes, her sparkling jade eyes, had shown the same interest in his detention as they had in the Steel Forest he had designed.

Erik knew why she had convinced her husband to take him into custody. The warrant stated he had become too dangerous. The Sultan had purportedly said he didn't want his designs in the hands of another king.

The Sultana's eyes had shown the real reason. Revenge.

For three weeks Erik waited in the solitary confinement cell he had designed. His final moments would be spent in a space barely big enough to sit down, a windowless hole with dirt floors and iron bars.

The night before he was scheduled to die, the daroga, the Chief of Police, had come with the skeleton key and an Indian man named Sanjeev Desai.

"Take your daughter and her companion to…where did you say?" Erik had questioned as Sanjeev helped him out of the prison and into the night-darkened streets. The Chief of Police strode ahead of them with his ruby-hilted saber in his hand.

"Dareesh. A city north of Calcutta. You will find employment there," Mr. Desai had whispered.

"What sort of labor?" Erik had panted as they made their way through shadows to the shipyards.

"Design, not labor, Levesque. My wife's brother is in need of an architect." The older man had stopped abruptly and pulled Erik into the darkness of a doorway. He stood with his face inches from Erik's and waited for two men to walk past the alley. "I warn you, Mr. Levesque, when you are in Dareesh, say nothing of your travels to Persia."

Erik had silently agreed. His back had been warm and wet from a mix of blood and sweat, his legs fatigued and his head pounding. As he stumbled onto a fisherman's small boat, Erik had been thankful to see the indigo night sky and the pinpricks of stars.

His battle had been far from over. Fever had hit somewhere around the Straight of Gibraltar, and for three days he had done nothing but sleep. His back had become infected where the skin had split open.

"Even a wounded tiger sits proud," Mr. Desai had told him as they took a carriage to the small flat in London where Corinna and Ursula had waited. The fever had finally broken and the wound had sealed. "Show no weakness, my boy. Strength, you must believe in your strength, in your power."

The next morning, Erik, Corinna and Ursula set sail first to Egypt, then to India's west coast.

* * *

Erik lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He could barely breath, barely think, barely register the room around him. He ran his hand over his face. Each time he closed his eyes he saw the small cell, the dirt floor and iron bars.

The Sultana's eyes.

Erik sat upright again and stared at the wall. In the adjacent room, the reason why he still breathed was resting in her bed.

Twenty kilometers north, her cousin was without a fiancé.


	12. The Pale Shade of a Nightmare

Back to 1870. Short chapter. Might have more tonight.

Ch 12

The Goddess closed her eyes and listened to the winter wind rattle the thin windows. A draft hissed through a crack in the window pane and forced its way through the curtains. She shivered and thought of better days in India where she had spent part of her youth, days when she had been a contented child eating mangoes from the trees.

Where had those days gone?

The Goddess rested her hand in the middle of Erik's back and sighed. His breathing had evened out as he slept. Twice he had tensed, his fingers curling tightly around the silk of her skirt. The Goddess had shushed him by running her knuckles down his back. She had brushed her hand through his hair and came away with strands between her fingers.

He was distressed. His hair had begun to fall out and his skin was unnaturally pale. His coloring was due in part to living underground, she knew, but it was also caused by his misery. His face was thinner than it had been three weeks ago. She could hear his stomach grumble as he slept. He had exhausted himself into a comatose state which she had no desire to disrupt.

Her phantom needed his rest.

A soothing caress and a whispered lullaby had parted the heavy curtain of nightmares threatening his contentedness. One soft note at a time she gave him peace. That was all he sought from a woman of profession. Not love, not release, only solace. He had found it in a voice. Her voice.

She enjoyed his voice as well.

The Goddess shivered and stared longingly at her paisley shawl across the room. She was cold from sitting on the floor and stiff from spending two hours in one position. She made no attempt to move. Ten thousand francs had purchased a night with a whore in a most unconventional way. The Goddess smiled to herself. She had been expecting his company all week.

If only he had come to her sooner, she mused. Perhaps he would not hurt so much.

The Goddess looked down at Erik's slumbering form and grimaced at the dark bruise. Without touching him, she moved her finger just above the contusion and traced its outline. She pursed her lips to keep from weeping.

He had been a terrible man, but he had been a gentleman as well. Where did that wanderer go? When had he lost himself? In Persia? In India? On the shores of France?

The Goddess gently moved his shirt collar to see how much skin the bruise covered. How many more scars does he carry? She wondered. How much heartache and defeat could one man tolerate?

Erik jolted without warning. He exhaled sharply and gasped for his next breath. Another nightmare, The Goddess knew, another reality emerging from his restless sleep. He was so haunted, so hunted.

The Goddess caressed the skin behind his ear and tried to start the lullaby again before he woke but it was too late.

"I won't!" he whispered. He gasped again, harder than the first time. His hand whipped out and he punched the dresser with his fist, splitting his knuckle on the violent impact. He hissed a breath past his teeth as the pain registered. His green eyes opened, searching the room with a feral response to danger.

A sound left his lips, a growl of confusion and frustration.

The Goddess pushed against his shoulder and freed herself from where she had been pinned beneath him. He lifted his head immediately and shot up, crawling away until he collided with the wall. His sudden outburst had alarmed her. With her back against the bed, she stared wide-eyed at the man before her. There were only several feetbetween thembut the distance she felt from him was suddenly unbearable. He disappeared into shadows, melded with night.

"I won't kill them,"Erik blurted out, this time softer than before. He stared at The Goddess and touched the unmasked side of his face, the cheek that had been warmed against her legs. Realizing where he had slept, Erik turned his gaze away from hers and closed his eyes again. "I won't kill them."

He glanced at her once again, and The Goddess knew what hewas doing whenhe met her gaze. He wanted to check the color of her eyes even when he could barely see her face. Every time he had come to her, he would reassure himself that she was different, exotic but familiar. A need, perhaps, more than desire.

"You've nothing to fear, Phantom. They are still black as night," she said quietly. Her hand reached back and turned up the lamp."Never jade."

He looked away and nodded. His eyes had fixed on the door.

"Never jade," The Goddess whispered.


	13. Refusal

In the last chapter we were in 1870 and Erik woke up saying he "wouldn't kill them." Now we know what he means.

Ch 13

_There were children playing in the courtyard on a sunny mid afternoon. They chased each other around fountains and hid from one another behind the rose bushes, oblivious to the man watching them from behind a marble column. _

_Erik stood stiffly on a balcony with his hands clasped behind his back and a gaze void of expression. The Sultana had summoned him but not yet appeared. When she did, it was always like a ghost gliding into a room. She constantly came up from behind and held a knife either to his neck or groin. Twice she had cut him, once on the neck and once between the shoulder blades._

_The Sultana had mastered the power of fear._

_"Don't they look happy, Frenchman?" the Sultana said._

_Erik made no attempt to move. He held his breath and waited for her to appear. She sidled up beside him and showed him the decorated broadside of a curved dagger._

_"Acid etched," she explained. "Look at the detail."_

_Erik stepped back. His stomach churned with sickness. Red stains filled the delicate lines carved into the blade. It was a depiction of herself holding a head. By the crimson soiling the weapon, she had already used it._

_"Interesting," he mumbled, forcing the word from his mouth._

_"Have you finished my plans yet?"_

_The close proximity in which they stood made his throat dry and his knees weak. The Sultana had ordered one hundred deaths in the last week alone. It had been her request to have him witness the way the Steel Forest worked with the new designs in place. _

_"Yes, they are finished," he answered._

_"When will it be built, my new toy?"_

_A toy, he thought with a shiver. She thought of a torture chamber as a new toy. The idea sickened him to his soul. In less than three years the Sultana had made him into a slave more than a commissioned worker._

_Erik swallowed hard. He needed to stall. "I need more workers…more material…"_

_The Sultana stepped around and blocked his view of the garden. "Look me in the eye," she demanded, pressing the tip of the dagger to his chest._

_Erik forced himself to obey. She would think nothing of stabbing him in the chest. She would watch him sink to the floor with a blade between his ribs and gain satisfaction with his suffering._

_"My plans must be finalized," she said to him._

_Erik leaned to one side and looked over her shoulder. He was sinking. His heart, his mind, his soul, everything was slipping away. "Those children, who are they?"_

_"Unimportant."_

_He met her eye again. _

_"Vagrants," the Sultana purred. "Worthless brats, open mouths, the children of thieves."_

_"Orphans?"_

_The Sultana headed back to her bedchamber. "Not for long."_

_Erik held back a shudder. "But they're…they're only children."_

_"Yes, all men were children once. The bad seeds grow into terrible, ruthless weeds."_

_Their fathers were men who had entered torture chambers in previous weeks. Their fathers were poor men kept destitute under the Sultan's rule._

_Erik's apprehension rose with each giggle in the courtyard, each dash of a child through the manicured grounds. _

_"They haven't done anything wrong."_

_The Sultana touched his shoulder with the edge of the blade. She lightly traced a star on his shirt, gentle enough not to break through fabric down to skin but hard enough that he drew in a breath. _

_"Given time they will follow in the steps of their fathers. It is within my power to stop them before they become a plague within my city." The blade moved up until the cool steel touched his neck. She ran the sharpened edge up to his jaw and paused._

_Erik turned his eyes away from the garden below. She had brought them here to die, and she had brought him here to design their deaths. There were many things he could do. Many of their fathers had slit throats and violated women. Their deaths had been unpleasant, he knew, but they had been for retribution. He slept at night knowing criminals had been put to death._

_The Sultana's finger touched his earlobe and he flinched. Her hands were always cold, frigid as ice. Meeting her had disproved the theory of cold hands meaning a warm heart. She had no heart. She had no conscience._

_"What is it?" The Sultana questioned. He watched as hr eyes narrowed in the small opening of her veil._

_"I can't do this."_

_"You can do anything I tell you to do." _

_Her hand slipped low across his stomach, low enough where Erik was glad the Sultan had not installed two-way mirrors on the unfinished side of the palace. He was lenient with his favorite wife by allowing her privacy. She was the only one of his twelve wives who was allowed a room devoid of secret doors and hidden mirrors. _

_"I will not kill a child."_

_"You must only finish your plans," she replied. Her fingers tugged on his belt before he stepped away. _

_Realizing his mistake, he offered a courteous bow. A month, two at the most, and the palace would be completed, he reminded himself again._

_"Stay with me a while, Frenchman," the Sultana suggested. "Amuse me."_

_She disappeared into her apartments with her long robes and veil fluttering behind. _

_Erik lingered a while longer attempting to harness his breathing. He couldn't bear the thought of amusing the Sultana a moment longer. His hand dropped to his side and touched the cool ivory guard beneath his overcoat. With a shiver, Erik walked into the little Sultana's apartments, blocking the sound of children playing from his mind._

_Sixty days, he assured himself. At the most he had to stay for sixty more days. Then he would leave Persia for good._

Joseph DeChantel shouted as he pounded on the door. "Eh, Levesque! You in there?"

Erik woke with a start and rolled to the edge of the bed, reaching for a knife that wasn't there. He ran his hands along his bare arms as he rose and lumbered to the door. As much as Erik dreaded the person waiting in the hall, he swung the door open.

"Have you ever held a gun before?"

Joseph DeChantel stood in a white shirt, vest and overcoat. His face was beet-red from a day spent out in the sun and an afternoon spent socializing and enjoying brandy.

"Have I…what?" Erik asked. He shifted his weight and scratched his chin, realizing he hadn't shaved in the morning.

Joseph punched Erik lightly in the shoulder. "A gun, a rifle, you ever shot anything?"

"No," Erik answered warily.

"Do you want to?"

Erik rubbed his hand over his face. He hadn't rested much due to the heat and the sound of a crowd through the open windows. "Do I want to shoot something? Not particularly. What happened to lunch at the Chateau?"

"Lunch? We'll have lunch after the tiger hunt."

Erik took a step back from Joseph, which turned into an unintended invitation for the visitor to enter the hotel room.

"My papers haven't arrived yet, Joseph. I need to finalize plans—"

"Wouldn't you like to have a tiger's head mounted on your wall back home? A nice trophy with the jaws open, teeth bared?" DeChantel used his hands to demonstrate an open maw. He let out a snarl as he circled Erik. "One you can show every woman you bed as you lead her through the home you designed?" He clapped his hand shut. "Snap! Make them jump right into your bed."

Erik turned away. "The tiger can keep his head."

"There's three of us going tomorrow. Figured I'd bring the wife along. She asked if your concubine would join us."

"Concubine? Joseph, she's not—"

"Relax. Come with us into the jungle and see what you can bag." Joseph winked and snapped his fingers. "We'll be here at nine. Don't disappoint me, Levesque. I'd hate to write my old man and tell him you refused a DeChantel."

Joseph turned toward the door again and smiled. "I'll leave you two alone," he said to Corinna. He glanced back at Erik again and grinned wider. He nodded toward the mortified young lady standing in the doorway.

It was a relief to see her entering and Joseph DeChantel leaving.

Corinna covered her mouth with her hand and turned away from Erik, muttering her apology. She held a brown paper package in the crook of her arm which she almost dropped as she exited the room.

Before he asked what she was doing, Erik realized why she had looked so embarrassed. He was standing half-naked before her. With a chuckle he reached for his shirt. Three years of standing shirtless in rock quarries with his pant legs rolled up to the knees had stolen some of his modesty.

"Knocking would suffice," he teased.

She stood with her back to him. "Are you dressed?"

"Not fully. What's in the bag?"

She turned her head slightly and spoke over her shoulder. "A _sherwani_. I thought you would be more comfortable in something like this than your European clothing. It's made of cotton. It would breathe better."

Even half-dressed Erik was still sweating. He watched her turn her face back to the hall the moment he moved forward.

"You may turn around if you like."

"Are you dressed now?"

"Turn and see," he grinned.

"No. And don't tease me, it isn't nice."

"Perhaps not nice but your innocence makes it easy."

Corinna handed him his traditional Indian garb over her shoulder. "When you are dressed, knock on our door."

He started to unbutton his shirt again. "Where are we going?"

"There's a festival by the riverfront."

"A festival for what?" Erik asked as he tossed his shirt back where he had found it. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Corinna had turned.

"The Goddess Kali," she said, turning her eyes away from him.


	14. Celebration of Life and Destruction

_In the last chapter it was explained that there was a festival for the Hindi Goddess Kali. Erik left Corinna a bit flustered._

Ch 14

The sun had already set by the time Erikshaved, dressedand knocked on Corinna and Ursula's door. Ursula was still not feeling well. The room was kept dark for her comfort. Erikglanced over Corinna's shoulder and insisted on checking up on Ursula before they left. She squawked and put up a fight but did nothing more than exhaust herself. She pulled the sheets up to her nose and glared at him.

"Pig," she said in Hindi to Corinna.

"He's trying to help," Corinna replied. She smiled to herself as she watched Erik walk over to Ursula's bed. He had taken his duty of looking after both of them to heart.

Erik pointed to his head. "Here?" he asked. He then pointed to his stomach. "Or here?"

Ursula pointed at her head. She moaned something and Erik turned to Corinna with a questioning look on his face.

"She said it's just a headache and you shouldn't worry," Corinna explained.

"You should stay in," Ursula added in Hindi. "He'll ruin you."

"I'm fine."

"What will you tell your father?"

Corinna shifted her weight. "That he was a gentleman for checking on you and for agreeing to take me out to the Kali Festival."

"Will you tell him you spent the evening unattended? With a married man?"

"Father trusts me."

Erik looked from Corinna to Ursula and back again. "What did she say?"

"She said we shouldn't stay out late," Corinna lied.

Erik stared at her a moment but didn't protest. "She's right. The DeChantels will undoubtedly be tiring tomorrow."

He offered his arm and together they left Ursula to scowl and rest alone. Corinna glanced back once before the door closed and saw Ursula had turned her back on the disgraceful man who had entered her room.

* * *

From the little Erik had picked up on Hindu culture he wondered why there wasn't a Nagini Festival to celebrate the protectors of water. Given that Chandernagore was on the crescent-shaped river bend seemed more appropriate than Kali, whom he had only seen depicted as standing on her husband Shavi's chest and thigh. 

"So, who is Kali?" Erik asked over the drums thumping in the night.

The air was thick with humidity. The change into more traditional Indian attire felt surprisingly more comfortable to Erik. Being in a loose-fitting shirt and pants felt better than a long-sleeved shirt, waistcoat, and overcoat. It was a relief to be rid of a cravat and so many layers of clothing.

"Kali is the Black Goddess," Corinna said. She stepped closer and leaned against his arm. "The Goddess _Noir_," she said with a giggle.

"I don't know that one."

"Durga? Do you know Durga?"

Erik thought a moment. "I've heard the name. Sanskrit, right? Although I don't know the meaning. She's a warrior, correct?"

Corinna's eyes widened. She was surprised at Erik's interest and knowledgeof her culture. Since the day he had arrived he had looked ready to return to Europe.

"Her name means 'she who is incomprehensible or difficult to reach'. Kali is one of the many forms of Durga. It is said Kali came from the brow of Durga while she slay a demon. She is the force of power."

"Power?" he asked, cocking a brow.

"Tonight, we celebrate the black Goddess."

"She sounds menacing," he teased.

They walked along the Hughli River where ferries made their way up to the docks on both sides of the river. Votives in glass jars adorned the walkways where Erik and Corinna traveled toward a large tent. The firelight appeared brighter as the night grew darker.

Ebony statues perched on pedestals greeted them as they walked into a throng of visitors. There were torches on either side of the four-armed deities that shed golden glows onto the fierce black faces of the carvings.

Erik found it peculiar that a predominantly French settlement would hold a festival for a Hindi Goddess, but he was nonetheless intrigued. The city was slowly losing its French influences and returning back to the people of India. Everything seemed in contrast from the little bakeries and cobbler shops to the open markets so typical for places like Calcutta.

Walking toward the river was one of the first times he felt drawn to the culture around him.

"Is that human hair?" Erik asked aghast as he neared a four-armed carved statue.

"I'm not sure," Corinna replied.

Erik continued to study the image of a woman holding a sword in one hand a severed head in the other. She held both itemsin her left hands while the right hands were kept empty. Though intricately carved and beautiful, the effigy made Erik increasingly uncomfortable.

"What is she the Goddess of?" Erik asked at last.

"Well, there are many ways to describe Kali. She is the Divine Mother, the Goddess of life and destruction," Corinna answered. "Through chaos there is renewal."

Erik said nothing. He could clearly see destruction throughher garland made of skulls and wild hair. She had three eyes, which his gaze returnedto again and again.

"Is shea Goddess or some sort of demon?" he asked. For the first time in many months he would have liked to havebeen neara Catholic church. It had been far too long since he had asked for forgiveness. The thought saddened him deeply. His parents had been right. He had become nothing.

Corinna stepped closer. "She is the Mother Goddess; forceful yet compassionate. Come, you'll see more inside."

He was about to protest when a wave of sound thundered over the riverfront. The drums were getting louder. Erik looked up, drawn to the sound of percussions and horns. He could hear chanting melding with the beat of the drums and the clap of hands.

Music. Primal, beautiful music wrapped around Erik's mind and coaxed him to move forward.

Entranced by the sound and the sight of men and women dancing, Erikstarted toward the tent withCorinna struggling to keep the pace. He had never heard anything like the musiccoming from the large burgundy pavilion.

Erik struggled to the front row of spectators and stood stock still, mesmerized by the swirl of bright scarves and saris, andthe sound of little bells and cymbals that blended into the harsh rhythm of animal skin drums and the haunting sound of conch shells.

Erik had no idea how long they watched or when one song ended and another began. All hecould dowas stop and stare, mentally recording the sights and sounds.

His obsession with music had fadedover theyears as design became his primary occupation. The little Sultana had notcared much for music or art. She kept no songbirds and hired no musicians. The palace had been a wasteland of arts and entertainment. Even the gardens had been of no interest to the Sultana. Only sharpened thorns and poisonous flora had convinced her of hiring groundskeepers to care for the plants.

Erik swallowed hard and blinked several times. He didn't want to think of the Sultana or Persia. This was a celebration, a night of drink and dance. Everything around him elicited a shiver of excitement, of ecstasy.

His eyes fixed on the women dancing. Several East Indians were attempting to teach two round-faced European women the moves to the dance while they're husbands looked on. The novices giggled and stumbled through the flicks of wrists and weavings of arms. The footwork was impossible for them to grasp and soon they gave up and fluttered back into the crowd to wait on the arms of their impressed spouses.

Erik was surprised he hadn't seen Joseph and Lilian DeChantel. Joseph would have been enjoying brandy while Lilian would have most likely been sharing in the festivities.

When Erik finally turned to Corinna to ask if she knew the dance, he found her staring at him rather than the dancers. The distance in Corinna's eyes had him concerned.

"You're having a good time?" Corinna asked with a hint of surprise in her voice. She seemed startled when he turned to face her.

"Yes. Are you?" Erik asked. He had lost the anxiety in his expression once the music had led him to the tent. The sound had become a release to him, a relief of something he had long forgotten he loved.

Corinna pressed her lips closed to keep from yawning.

"Yes, of course."

Erik studied her for a moment and saw how she strained to keep her eyes opened. "As entertaining as this is, I should probably take you back to your room."

Corinna made no protest. "I'm sorry. It's rude of me to ruin your night."

"No, it's getting late," Erik replied. He glanced at his pocket watch and saw that it wasn't even nine o'clock. "Come, before Ursula thinks I've lost you."

She smiled and took his arm.

* * *

Throughout the night a question had twisted through Corinna's mind. She had walked in on Joseph and Erik's conversation earlier than either man had realized. Each time she looked at Erik—which had been more often than necessary—she wondered what had happened to his back. There were scars, whip marks by the look of them, marring his skin. It gave her gooseflesh just thinking about the reddened, raised wounds that ruined a living Adonis. 

He had been flogged recently by the looks of it. What had happened to this man? She wondered.

It seemed far too intimate to look at him half-dressed, and the scars only added to her discomfort. Erik had turned before she hadstudied the markings, but what she did remember was branded in her mind.

"You're being unusually pensive tonight," Erik commented.

The music faded as they crossed from the street along the Hughli River to the inn where they were staying for the week

Corinna shrugged. "I must be more exhausted than I first thought."

Erik grunted. The air was finally cooling off and the breeze coming off the waterfelt good against their skin. Everything about the night had finally lightened his mood.

"I thought I would enjoy your silence but it's worse than your constant chatter."

Corinna smiled. The question was dancing on her tongue, begging to flutter like a pixie into the night. She didn't want to stop at only a question. She wanted more. Corinna swallowed hard and tried to push those thoughts from her mind.

It was improper. Dangerous. Salacious. Her hands began to tremble, palms sweating as she thought of pulling the shirt over his head and running her hand down his spine, over the scars, over the long muscles. She wanted to touch him…

All night she had stared at him. He hadn't noticed her study the right side of his face, the curve of his jaw, the length of his neck leading down to his shoulders. She had studied the intensity in his eyes, the passion of his gaze as he succumbed to music.

Her father would have been horrified that she took interest in a European man. He had purposely taken her out of England to keep her from the British men who often followed exotic girls down the streets. Her father had become increasingly worried about her alone in London.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

Corinna struggled to find her voice. Erik would either be amused or horrified by her bawdy thoughts.

"Yes," she answered hoarsely.

Erik chuckled. "Maybe I should carry you the rest of the way," he jested. He turned and playfully offered her a ride on his back.

"I'd hurt you," she said quickly.

"I'm stronger than that," he laughed again as he turned to face her. "How would you—?" Erik stared at her for a moment and saw the apprehension in her eyes before he turned away again. His jaw tightened and his pace quickened as his anger flared. "Why were you spying?" he asked gruffly.

"I wasn't spying," she said under her breath. She bowed her head and lagged behind like a scolded dog.

"What were you doing then?"

"Bringing you clothes," Corinna answered meekly.

Erik reached the front porch steps and skipped ever other one until he stood by the red double doors. He turned his back on her while he waited.

Corinna tiptoed silently up the stairs. She stood behind Erik and waited for him to open the door and walk inside.

"My business is my own," he seethed. "You are only a child, a silly, insolent child in need of a nanny. Why were you prying?"

Corinna's eyes brimmed with tears as he accused her. "I wasn't, Erik, I—"

He snorted. "Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning," he replied. He opened the door and nodded to the waiting darkness.

With her head hanging low Corinna dragged herself upstairs. She heard the door shut behind her.

He hadn't followed.

"I care for you," she said quietly.


	15. Fear of Water

There's an "Easter Egg" for those of you who have read all 3 of my Phantom Stories. I'll explain at the bottom.

Ch 15

Erik stormed down the street and back to the celebration where even more people were gathering for the festivities. He had every intention of purchasing a bottle of imported French wine, a chardonnay from Dupree Vineyards, if he could find it.

****

He muttered a curse and bent down to pick up a rock, which he threw so hard that his right arm hurt from the exertion.

Corinna infuriated him. She was a prying, meddling, inquisitive little minx. He had told her to stay in her room and she had not listened. Nothing was more galling than a disobedient brat.

Erik slowed his pace once he reached the corner and grit his teeth. With a sigh, he felt his shoulders drop and his anger lessen. He turned and frowned at the Inn. The room Corinna and Ursula shared was the only dark window in the two-story building. She must have gone straight to bed after he had ordered her into the building.

Anger quickly lapsed into shame. He knew he shouldn't have called her names or humiliated her. She had inadvertently stumbled upon an open door. He had been fortunate that Joseph hadn't seen the healing scars and questioned him, though Erik knew it wasn't in Joseph's personality to think of anyone but himself.

For a moment Erik hesitated, caught between the decision of turning back and apologizing to her or continuing on to the celebration.

"A damned coward would turn back," he muttered to himself as he whipped around and faced the twinkling lights along the river.

Erik knew he had made her cry. Before the door closed he had heard her start to sob. His hand had reached out but his fingers only grazed the doorknob. Once the door shut he couldn't bring himself to open it again.

Erik clenched his fists and cursed to himself as he headed toward the dark riverbank. The more he heard laughter the less he wanted to be part of the mirth. He would disappear for the night, meld into darkness and misery. It was as much as he deserved.

Heading toward the dreaded river was punishment in and of itself.

Erik had developed a fear of water in early childhood, one that still made him uneasy as an adult.

Large ships didn't unnerve him but small boats and swimming in unfamiliar water made him apprehensiveHe had carefully maintained his position in the center of the ferry while on their way from Dareesh to Chandernagore. No one had seemed to notice his knuckle-white grasp on one of the seats when the ferry bumped and rattled against the dock.

Erik knew where his discomfort came from. One of the boys had pushed him off a pier by a duck pond when he was around the age of six and he had almost drowned. In his panic, he hadn't realized how shallow the water was until the same boy had hauled him to safety and mocked him for his tears.

The water in the Hughli River looked like ink beneath the moon's bright glow. Erik slowed his pace once the turf turned spongy beneath his shoes. He was panting from the brisk walk down to the abandoned portion of the river, panting and cursing himself.

A shiver ran through Erik's body as he stared at the rippling surface of the river. Ravi had told Erik that gods and goddesses called naga protected all bodies of water. Hindu religion said naga brought rain when the soil dried and plants would not grow.

"They believe gods and goddesses do everything," Erik muttered to himself. His eyes closed to the darkness. "What do I believe in?"

Erik slid his hand beneath his shirt and shuddered at the raised marks beneath his fingers.

Twenty-five lashes. He bore the scars from twenty-five lashes, reminders of his insolence.

_Four rocks held the corners flat on the marble tabletop. Erik sat and stared at the finished plans. _

_A rose garden in a glass box. _

_The Sultana had promised the children a special party in an English garden. Delighted, they had bowed and clapped in appreciation of her generosity. _

_"The Frenchman will build it for you," the Sultana promised the children as they exited her apartments. _

_As he stared at the plans he could still hear her words. There would be English Ivy climbing the walls, Morning Glory, Violets and Venus' Looking Glass in flower boxes and pots. Everywhere the children looked there would be beautiful flowers _and colors.

_And behind it the valves which would lead to their deaths, leaking sodium cyanide into the glass room. _

_Erik couldn't do this. He couldn't hand the Sultana designs for a _ _Garden__ of _ _Death__. One by one he removed the rocks from the edges of the design and watched as the corners curled inward. _

_"Well?" the Sultana asked from behind him. _

_She would order his execution whether he complied or not. His uses were few now that the palace was near completion and she had many devices to with which to amuse herself. _

_Her hand ran along his shoulders and up to his neck. The sensation startled him. This time she used her fingernails rather than a blade. _

_"You give me great pleasure," she said, her voice sultry as she stepped closer to him. _

_Erik took the document from the tabletop and stood very still as her fingers slid down his back to his hips. If he didn't design the garden, someone else would. Handing her the plans would prolong his life. _

_I'll escape, Erik decided. I'll escape from _ _Persia_

_But he couldn't escape the sound of laughter turning into gasps and convulsing. Erik knew he would never be free of those smiles turned to masks of horror. _

_Her hand rested at the front of his trousers. The first button popped open. _

_"Let me see what you have designed," she said against his shoulder. _

_His answer was a rip of paper. _

_With a shriek she backed away, groping for her dagger. Before she could turn back to him, Erik disappeared through a secret passageway he had designed_

The resulting lashes had been worth every last drop of blood.

A breeze crept beneath Erik's _sherwani_ again and gave him goosebumps. He was reminded of the Sultana's icy touch, of the cruelty in her eyes and voice.

Corinna had not made him angry. The scars had made him angry. Cowardice, weakness, and guilt had made him furious with himself.

He would apologize to Corinna. He would leave the river and nagas behind, knock on her door and explain himself.

Erik turned his back on the river and faced a different goddess.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping back toward the water.

"Good evening, Monsieur Levesque," the dark goddess purred. "Celebrating the Goddess Kali tonight?"

* * *

If anyone is really good at designing graphics I was going to have a Cafe Press shop and make a t-shirt that says Dupree Vineyards Owned and Operated by Erik and Sophia since 1876.

If you rock at making graphics let me know. I'm easy to reach.


	16. Denial

Erik stared at Anisha a moment. He glanced behind at the river and saw a ferry pulling away from the dock.

"You came to Chandernagore?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and turned her eyes away. "After my engagement, it seemed like I was in need of a holiday."

Erik's heart was still hammering from the recollections of the Sultana. He had not once seen her face, which made him wary of all women he encountered. He found himself constantly staring women in the eye, which sated his fears but made for poor manners.

"You shouldn't be out here unescorted. If anyone knew—"

"They would know I am in the company of my cousin's guardian," she said before he could finish. "Are you worried about my virtues? Is that the prudish way of the Europeans?"

Erik forced a smile as he gazed at her. She stood with her hands behind her back and a coy smile adorning her face. She was everything he expected a goddess would be; fiercely beautiful and intoxicatingly perilous.

"I just think it would be for the best if you returned to the celebration."

"Will you join me?" Anisha asked.

"I was returning to the Inn," Erik answered. He spoke faster, which he knew was evident to her by her widening smile. "What are you doing here?"

Anisha walked toward him. "I was hoping to have a word with the genius designing my future home." Her eyes trailed back to the tent and the lights sparkling on the river. "It seemed worth a journey to Chandernagore."

"I haven't unpacked the plan as yet. I'm not even sure where the rest of my belongings are at the moment—"

"I see. Perhaps you would care to accompany me to the Kali festival for a while? Or do you need to check on the babes? Did the children suckle and retire early for the night?" Anisha asked.

Her condescending tone made Erik turn away. "Corinna is a good person," he said under his breath. "Your family is unkind to her."

"She is a half-breed," Anisha said with a shrug. "Her father abandoned his kinsmen long ago for the Brits. It's a family tradition with the Desai Family."

"She shouldn't be targeted because of her father's wrongdoings."

Erik heard Anisha's footsteps swish through the tall grass until they stopped directly behind him. "I didn't realize you were so fond of Corinna."

"Her father trusts me with her well-being." He paused and thought over her words. "How can she only be half-Indian if her mother is your aunt?"

Anisha sighed. "Her mother was adopted by my grandparents. She is really my father's cousin. Corinna's mother had a relationship with a man who was half-Dutch and half-Spanish and disgraced her family. She is more European than Indian. An orphan, if you will."

_An orphan. A helpless orphan…_

He thought of the Sultana again and of the children he had refused to murder who had been put to death. He could not protect them.

"Do you pity her?"

Erik shook his head but didn't turn to face Anisha. Though Corinna's complexion was olive and her eyes pure black, she had the sharp features of a Spaniard and the wide nose typical of the Dutch. She lacked the more exotic features of her cousins.

"There is nothing to pity. She's intelligent and pleasant. Any man should be fortunate to ask her father for her hand."

"It sounds like you have designs on her. Does her father know? Uncle Sanjeeve favors the Europeans, as you have undoubtedly noticed."

"He's been good to me. I won't say anything to dishonor him."

"Would a proposal to his half-breed daughter dishonor a Desai?" Anisha asked, raising a brow.

They stood in silence for a while. Each time Erik inhaled he caught her sweet perfume. She smelled of patchouli and oranges. It had been a long time since he had smelled anything so intoxicating.

It had been a long time since anything had aroused him. As a man of twenty he already felt jaded and cynical.

"I am here to keep her safe, not court her," he replied at last.

"Not interested in marriage yet?"

"Not yet."

Erik remembered the first time he had seen Anisha on the rooftop. For three years he had stood in the presence of a woman who had only been a voice behind a veil. That night on the terrace he had seen her face, an angel's face.

An angel who was claimed by another. Her father was a powerful man and her fiancé was establishing his name as well. Anisha was no less dangerous than the Sultana.

Still, he imagined what it would be like to grasp her hips as she lowered onto him, as she pleasured him the same way the woman had pleasured Omar the other night. He could see her lips tremble with each sensation, with each rapture of ecstasy as he explored every inch of her flesh.

Physically she was a goddess though she spoke with a forked tongue.

"I must be disturbing you, Monsieur Levesque. I thought you would enjoy the company, since you are a stranger in my country," Anisha said at last.

"Ravi has shown me around."

"I could show you more."

Erik laughed uncomfortably. He could still envision her on top of him. "That would not be wise. Your husband would not appreciate your offer."

Her fingers moved down his back like five little spiders crawling over his puckered scars. Erik shuddered and thought of the dagger, of the blade stained with his blood. His mind flashed with images of a Steel Jungle and a Garden of Death, to men hanging and children laughing.

"He's not my husband yet and he's not here to know."

Everything instinct warned him not to turn and face her, not to stare into her eyes, no matter what the color. Denial had issued his demise in Persia. Denial in India would save his life.

"You would know," he whispered.

"And so would you. Let me show you."

"You speak as though you despise Europeans and now…"

"Show me differently."

Erik turned and avoided her eyes. "I've seen enough of India for one night, Miss Patel. I must be going. I have a long day tomorrow with an old friend of mine. If you wish, I'll walk you to the celebration or back to where you are staying."

Anisha threaded her arm through his. "I think it is time I went to bed."

* * *

Corinna sat on the stairs with her face buried in her hands. She couldn't bear to face Ursula. She knew exactly what her companion would say if she walked into the room and saw tears streaming down her face. 

Her tears fell faster and she sobbed harder as she attempted to understand what she had done to upset him so much.

Erik had treated her like a child. He had scolded her and sent her off to bed without explanation for his words and actions.

_My business is my own_, Erik had said.

Corinna hadn't meant to pry. Her father had told her very little about the man who would accompany her to Dareesh. On their way from London to Calcutta, Corinna had attempted to understand him. He had been sullen and silent the first few days. When he did speak, it was in one-word answers. Finally, just when he had started to seem comfortable with his surroundings, he met Anisha.

Anisha would never be interested in Monsieur Levesque. She was just like the rest of the Patels who turned their noses up at the British and Europeans in general. Ever since she was a small girl Corinna had known her Uncle Padir and her Aunt Sunila had felt prejudice againsther and her mother.

They were all the same.

Corinna closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn't help that she was curious about his scars. Anyone would have questioned why such a handsome man bore so many scars.

She scoffed at herself. How could she possibly find him handsome after he had been so cruel? He had berated and shamed her and still she found him attractive.

There was no use crying over him. He didn't care about her. Her attempts to catch his eye were all in vain. He was only interested in the exotic beauty.

Corinna slapped her hands on the wooden steps and rose to her feet.

"Forget him," she muttered to herself. "Let him love her as much as he wants. He'll never have her. Foolish dreams!"

With a sigh of disgust, she stood and composed herself. Behind her the front door to the Inn opened. She glanced back at the man and woman entering and felt her throat tighten.

Tomorrow she would ignore him.

Tomorrow she would still be hopelessly in love with him.

* * *

Erik walked Anisha back toward the Inn and closed storefronts in complete silence. The wind had started to blow harder and the air, which had cooled considerably, smelled like rain. 

Erik searched the sky for lightning in an attempt to avoid Anisha's eyes. He was attracted to her in a way that was purely animalistic. There was nothing in his feelings for her that emanated from love. He only wanted to touch her.

Anisha held fast to his arm, her fingers gently massaging his forearm as they made their way to the same Inn he was staying at with Corinna and Ursula. She clung to him, standing so close that he could feel her breast against his arm with each step.

"How long are you staying here?" Anisha asked.

Erik led her up the stairs. "Several days, I suspect."

"When will you have the plans for my home done?"

"Soon."

"May I see what you have completed thus far?"

"I suppose. Nothing is finalized."

"Friday," she said. "Join me for supper so we may discuss them."

Erik glanced at her and then the door. He wondered if Corinna was still awake. "We'll see."

Anisha released his arm. "We certainly will," she replied.

Erik opened the door for her and glanced into the darkened hall. Corinna was walking to her room. She glanced back at him then at Anisha. Without a word she returned to her room.

Erik released Anisha's arm and made it to the first step just as Corinna slammed the bedroom door behind her.

"Looks like someone is up past her bedtime," Anish said. She walked up beside him and rested her hand on his arm. "Walk me to my room?"


	17. Demands of A Deity

1870. The last time we were in 1870 Erik had woke saying he wouldn't kill them, which we realized was the orphaned children of thieves.

Ch 17

Erik sat with his back to the Goddess and struggled to compose himself. He swallowed hard and glanced over his shoulder at the woman still sitting several feet away. The dream had been so real. He had seen the Sultana's jade eyes staring back at him, her fingernails like tiger claws reaching out to his chest.

For years he had experienced the same dread. She had not taken his face. She had taken away his humanity, his dignity, his spirit.

"Do I owe you more money?" Erik asked the Goddess. He fixed his eyes on a lamp with a beaded shade. The first thing he noticed was that it was crooked. He wanted to fix it.

He needed to fix something, to find resolution. Absolution….

"How much money did you bring with you tonight?" The Goddess asked as she sat on her knees.

"Nothing more," he mumbled.

The Goddess crawled across the floor on her hands and knees until she sat before him. She stared into his downcast eyes. "What else can I take from you?" she asked in his ear.

Erik shook his head. He shuddered as The Goddess breathed on the left side of his face. Her hand covered his and she rubbed her arm against his knee, moving like a cat in heat.

"There has to be something," she said, drawing out her words against his ear. "Or did you give it all to Christine?"

"How do you know her name?" he panted.

The Goddess smiled and pushed on his thigh, lowering his knee to the ground. She straddled his outstretched leg and dragged her skirt up to her thighs. As she moved he stared at her legs spread over his knee, at what he had wanted for years.

"How do I know about the chorus girl? About the little orphan left in the opera house?"

He shuddered at her words. _The orphan._

"Did you want to bed her?" She took his hand and placed it against the left side of her chest.

"I wanted to protect her."

"From what?" the Goddess asked. She laughed at his words.

The Goddess allowed his hand to rest on her bare flesh, on the warmth of her skin where it escaped the satin confinement of her bodice. Slowly, as his hand balled into a fist, she moved his fingers down until it was against her naval.

"I didn't want her to be alone."

"And you were good company?"

"I don't know anymore."

The Goddess allowed silence to fill the room. Behind them, a backboard beat against the wall and a woman yelped, calling out a name muffled by the thin walls.

"Am I really your Goddess?" she asked.

Her hand moved with his until his knuckles grazed her skirts. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at his hand, at her legs, at everything he wanted to experience. The warmth of her body through the fabric and the smoothness of her cotton clothing became too much to bear. Erik attempted to pull away but she touched his face with her free hand and paralyzed him.

"Am I what you worship? Tell me now."

"I can't touch you," he whispered.

"You can and you will."

"Please…"

"I am power, Phantom."

At last he pulled away and placed his hand flat against the floor. "I asked you not to call me that."

"No, you did not ask. You demanded and I denied. I do not serve you, Erik. You are mine. I may do as I please with you, as it serves my purpose and mine alone. Once you have fulfilled my desires I shall abandoned you, refuse you. If it pleases me, I shall kill you. Do you understand me?" She touched the bruise on the side of his neck. "Tell me how you earned this and tell me now."

"Please, I have nowhere to go," he whispered.

"They will wait for you to return beneath the opera house, won't they?"

"Yes," he said. He had started to shake again.

"How many men are waiting for you?"

He shook his head. One had been too many.

"When did you sleep last?"

"Three days ago."

"Eat?"

He shook his head. He had no idea. It didn't matter.

"You disappoint me."

"I know."

"No, Erik, you know nothing. The Goddess knows all." Slowly she moved her hand down his chest and down his stomach until her fingers rested where he wanted and hated it most. "You are mine. You will do as I say and not deny me. Is that understood?"

A spark flickered deep inside of him, a kindling of desire he had stamped upon for years in an attempt to kill it completely. Love was not something he was allowed. Sex had become a forbidden desire.

"Touch me," she said. "Feel what you want."

Fire roared through him, ripping at his inside, consuming everything within him he had tried to smother. He had never felt such power within himself wrapped in utter weakness of wanting. He wanted her, his Goddess. He wanted everything about her.

He closed his eyes and felt The Goddess stroke the spark into a flame, into a bright, hot point he could no longer ignore. His body stiffened, his mind winding around the last beautiful image he could find.

_Christine…_

He had not meant to hurt her. He had only wanted to love her, to protect her, to redeem a lifetime of horror, of mistakes, of solitude. He had wanted to love her.

In the end he had failed. No matter what he did, he had failed. He had left Persia a disgrace, he had left India a broken man, and he had left the opera house as a ghost.

The sharp throbbing of pleasure became a dull aching of unfulfilled need. The Goddess pulled away, leaving him alone.

Alone and ravenous for a feeling he had only imagined.

"I should be dead," he whispered against her neck.

"You shall live if I will it. I am a dark force, one which has little mercy for weakness. In the past you were different. In the past…what were you in those days? An architect, a musician, a lover to a dark Goddess?"

His eyes flickered up and met hers. He shook his head. She didn't know what he had been in the past, how far he had fallen, how long ago he had shattered.

"I didn't love her."

The Goddess felt his desire against her hand as she leaned into his chest and touched his left ear with her lips. "I have three eyes to see the past, the present, the future."

"Like Kali," he said under his breath.

She nodded, brushing her face against his rough cheek. "Through destruction there is renewal."

Erik closed his eyes and felt her lips against the corner of his mouth. "Not always."


	18. Lonely, Miserable

In the last chapter, Corinna saw Erik walk back into the Inn with Anisha. He had yelled at Corinna when she was concerned about him.

Ch 18

Erik stared at the door Corinna had slammed shut. Anisha continued to stroke his arm until she managed to intertwine her fingers with his. He pulled away almost immediately, reaching for the handrail to avoid her touch.

"Am I that alarming?" Anisha whispered against his shoulder.

Erik made no reply. He turned and stood in the foyer again.

"What is there to fear?"

"You must return to your room."

Anisha smiled and sauntered toward Erik. "A man such as you lacking experience surprises me."

"I am here to build a house and nothing more."

"Do you want more?" Anisha asked. She glanced at him from over her shoulder as she walked toward her room. Dressed in a red sari, she looked like a crimson apparition gliding down the darkened hall.

Erik's mind and body centered on the one thing he wanted most. All he had to do was nod and follow her to her room.

Anisha unlocked her door and turned to smile at Erik. "I am a Patel. I am accustomed to having what I want when I want it. You have disappointed me. See that it never happens again. Go suckle the infants. I'm tired of you, Monsieur Levesque."

Anisha disappeared into her room and Erik wasted no time in walking up the stairs. Long after Anisha had disappeared into her own room he still smelled her perfume and felt the warmth where her arm had rested against his. It reminded him of the phantom pain his father had described from his missing hand.

Erik stood before Corinna and Ursula's door and listened for a while. Even though he didn't understand their words, he understood the sound of tears.

He had never felt so low. He slumped down to the floor in the hall and sat staring at the darkness until he heard Corinna and Ursula rustle beneath their sheets and go silent for the night. He climbed to his feet, entered his own room, and stood staring at his reflection in the silvery moonlight. He removed his shirt and turned his back to the mirror, examining the scars which had caught Corinna's attention.

_She doesn't know what cruelties you devised,_ he thought to himself. She didn't know what screams followed him into his nightmares, what accusing eyes appeared in the dead of the night. Her father had demanded that he keep Persia his secret.

Their agreement had begun to kill him inside. Erik wondered if he would feel so guilty if Catholicism had not been his faith. He needed to tell someone, anyone, what had happened.

Corinna would listen. _Would_ have listened, he corrected himself. She would undoubtedly suspect something lecherous in seeing him walk Anisha back to the Inn.

Erik covered the hideous scars on his torso and parted the curtains. He saw a couple lost in a tryst across the street. Hand in hand, they walked back toward the Inn. Their copulating was of no interest to him though he could hear their whispers to one another even after he sat on the end of the bed to remove his shoes. The front door opened and their giggles filled the hall before they disappeared into a room on the first floor.

Erik rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. His thoughts were tinged with jealousy. Anisha was right. No one would have known if he had kissed her, if he had returned to her room with her. No one would have suspected a thing.

His blood still pulsed hot with desire. She was statuesque; a beautiful young woman offering him everything he wanted for a night. But his mind was elsewhere.

Erik couldn't stop thinking of Corinna.

Eventually, he changed for the night and lay down in bed. He closed his eyes in the darkness and wished her father had not asked him to watch over her. There were limits to his duties, limits he found far too confining. The longer he lay in the dark quiet the more confining they became.

He was alone again, as he had been for the past three years in Persia. He had purposely kept to himself while in the Sultan's service. In France he had always felt distinctly separated from the rest of the boys his age. He was consumed by music and architecture while the rest of the young men nudged each other in the ribs and bragged about what girl they had taken down by the creek. He had watched from a distance, barely noticed by his peers.

"You're a freak," he muttered to himself. "A lonely, miserable freak."

Numbness turned to restless sleep and eventually nightmares.

There were always nightmares.

_Three weeks had passed since the Sultana had seen Erik rip up her final plans. He had purposely stayed in the rock quarry from sunrise until sunset. The workers joked that by the time the palace was completed his skin would be as dark as theirs._

_The invitation to join her for dinner in her apartments had caught him by surprise. Erik re-read her note several times, hands shaking and breaths turned to shallow pants of despair. He felt for the comfort of the knife at his side, the dagger he had concealed against his hip._

_She was going to kill him at dinner. If he refused the Sultana would take it as an insult. If he accepted she would either slit his throat or poison him._

_He was going to die. There was no doubt about it. The knife would buy him time._

_Erik paced through his apartment and looked around the room. He could take the secret tunnels he had devised for the Sultan. He could disappear into the night and hope he went unnoticed._

_There had not been time to decide. One of the Sultana's servants came and fetched him from his room._

_Thecorridors had seemed so narrow as he followed the servant. Each step he took echoed off the walls. He felt what the men he had helped kill had felt. He knew the gut-wrenching dread that came with each step forward, each breath that neared the last. All other thoughts disappeared the moment the door to the little Sultana's apartment opened. _

_"How kind of you to join me," the Sultana said._

_Erik looked from one mirror to the next. A thousand Sultanas greeted him._

Erik gasped and sat up in bed with a start. The sheets were damp with sweat, his pillow soaked and his hair plastered to his head. His eyes flitted from the dresser to the chair to the desk, confirming he was not in Persia.

He was not near the Sultana, but she was near him.

The Sultana had known he would be expecting his death. She had allowed him to live through dinner. Though he remembered little of the conversation, he knew that she praised the work he had done on the palace for her husband. Not once had she mentioned her favorite designs. The chambers of death and the gardens where she had executed over five hundred men and women in less than three years never entered the conversation.

She had toyed with him. The mental torture had begun over a seven course meal somewhere between picking grapes off the bunch and sprinkling salt on the leg of lamb.

Erik swung his legs to the floor and stared out the window. Another pale dawn approached. The last thing he wanted to do was hunt tigers. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another day in India.

He would write home before sunset and beg his mother and father for forgiveness. He would admit his mistake in traveling far from France. He would grovel at their feet if it meant they would take him back.

_I have been broken, _Erik thought. Like a beaten horse, he would accept the bit and carry the weight of his father's expectations.

Once Mr. Desai returned, Erik would have him give Mr. Patel the wages he had retained from Persia. All he needed was enough money to return to France. From there, he would do as his parents had wanted and follow in his father's footsteps. The foolishness would come to an end.

Joseph DeChantel knocked on the door an hour before lunch. He was dressed in a black _sherwani_ with intricate silver detailing along the hemlines. "You ready to bag a trophy?" he asked with a grin.

Erik rubbed at his eyes. "Joseph, I don't know…"

"The wife, your two young ladies, and several other young women are already downstairs. Dine with us. Come on, Erik, you and me and a table of beautiful women."

Erik solemnly nodded. He didn't much care one way or another who was at the table. He needed contact. He needed something to rip away the loneliness and despair was suddenly smothering him.

"I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes," Erik agreed.

Once Erik shaved and dressed, Joseph led him to an open courtyard where the women were feeding breadcrumbs to the peacocks and peahens. Lilian greeted her husband and Erik with a warm smile and introduced her to two of her friends, whom Erik recognized as the two women who had attempted the Indian dance the previous night.

"Their husbands are joining us on the hunt," Joseph commented.

Erik was the only one of the four dressed in European garb. Even the women were wearing saris for their holiday.

"This is Anna VanCott and Gertie Robberson. They are missionaries with our church," Lilia explained.

Erik attempted to be as polite as possible. His gaze continued to switch from the new faces to Corinna and Ursula, who had not yet noticed him.

"We hear you are an architect," one of the two women said. She was the petite young woman with light brown hair parted down the middle and pulled into a tight braid. Erik thought her name was Anna.

"Yes."

"What have you designed?" she asked. She purposely placed her hand against her face to show off the henna designs painted along the back of her hand.

"A…palace," he said. He glanced around and wondered where Anisha had gone for the morning. He hoped she had taken a ferry back home to Dareesh. The last thing he wanted was Ravi storming into Chandernagore and confronting him.

Both Gertie and Anna clucked in excitement and attempted to ask more questions, but Erik excused himself.

Corinna noticed him from her seat on the edge of a stone fountain. She merely glanced at him before she continued to toss breadcrumbs to the two peahens and the peacock strutting around the courtyard.

"May I speak with you? Somewhere private…with Ursula, of course."

Corinna continued to stare at the birds. "I'm quite comfortable sitting here in the shade."

Erik nodded. She was going to make it difficult and he couldn't blame her. "May I sit beside you or would you prefer I stand?"

"I would prefer if you said whatever you wanted to say and went back to the French elite. Or would you prefer to yell at me like a child again?" Corinna looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes betraying her disinterest.

"There are shade trees across the street," Erik replied. "Only for a moment."

With a sigh Corinna relented. She spoke briefly to Ursula before turning to Erik. "She'll watch from across the street."

Erik followed Corinna to a stone bench across the street. She sat down, faced away from him, and hugged her body.

"When your father said there would be a man escorting you back to India, what did he tell you?"

"He said you were French."

"What else?"

Corinna looked over her shoulder at him. "What else was there to say?"

"When he found me…"

"Levesque!" Joseph DeChantel yelled.

Erik held out his hand, begging for more time. Corinna turned around on the bench, brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"I promised your father," Erik started. He glanced across the street at Joseph and the two other men heading toward him. All three of them had rifles over their shoulders. "I can't keep my promise. I need to tell you something."

"What are you talking about?"

Corinna rose to her feet but the two other men stepped in front of her.

"The ladies are eating now. We'll catch up with them later," Joseph explained.

"I'm in the middle of a conversation," Erik said through his teeth.

"It can wait. The tigers are ready."

Erik looked from Joseph to Corinna. She had turned away from him. He sighed in disgust. "I'll be across the street in a moment."

Joseph had stopped listening before Erik began talking. Without another word to Erik, all three men started across the street with their rifles proudly slung over their shoulders.

"Will you speak with me later?" Erik asked. "After this…this damned hunt."

"You're hunting?" Corinna asked.

Erik's shoulders slumped. "They want to hunt a tiger. I have no interest—"

"Why are you going then?"

"To send out a warning shot to the tiger," he answered under his breath.

Corinna half-smiled, which Erik considered a good sign. "Teatime," she said. "Once the men are done, there's a café down the street called _Petit Belle_."

Joseph started shouting again. He hoisted his rifle in the air and motioned for Erik to join them.

"_Petit Belle,_" Erik repeated. "For tea."

Before he had even crossed the street, a gunshot tore through the quiet afternoon.


	19. Tiger Hunt

_Gabrina's service announcement for the day: What you are about to read may be disturbing. It's something which is a real problem addressed by the ASPCA which is why I used it._

_Please read and review. Sorry it's a shorter chapter!_

Ch 19

Erik shuddered at the sound of gunfire and lumbered across the street, crossing from the shady trees to the middle of the sun-drenched street. He could hear the three men talking to one another behind a wall soundproofing the courtyard from the sounds that pierced the air.

With a sigh he rounded the corner and came to a sliding stop in time to see one of the men take aim at a wounded tiger. Erik closed his eyes in anticipation and heard the gunfire followed by a soft groan of death.

Erik opened his eyes to see all three men laughing and shaking hands. The animal lay dead within an iron cage, one shot to the chest which had wounded it, and another to the throat which had put it down.

Erik couldn't move. His feet became leaden, his mind reeling from what he had seen. He stared blankly at the dead cat's white underbelly. Its mouth was slightly open and the head tilted back as a result of the shot to the throat. The clean white fur was slowly turning bright red. It sickened him that something of such great beauty had been so easily destroyed.

There was nothing brave or honorable about the manner of killing. It was a beast within a cage that had no chance of escape. This was not hunting or sport. It was killing; mindless and ignorant slaughter. It was what Erik had spent the last three years doing to men and women.

"Which one do you want?" Joseph asked as he walked up beside Erik. "There are two left. Theodore's giving his kill to you."

Erik looked at the two tigers sharing the same cage. They had both backed up into the corner where a man was prodding them with a steel rod. The larger of the two, the male, bared its teeth at the man and swatted in vain at the pole as it protected the smaller female.

Erik took the gun from Joseph's hands. "What did you pay for them?"

"Fifteen thousand francs for the three of them."

"Where did you get them?"

"A man raised them from cubs. He brought them upriver just this morning for us. It's quite the honor."

"Pets?"

"Not really. They're wild animals raised by a human hand," Joseph answered as he crossed his arms. He turned to the man culling the two cats and nodded. "That's enough. He's ready to claim his prize."

Erik held the rifle up and took aim. "What purpose does this serve, Joseph?"

"What—what do you mean?" Joseph asked. He scratched his chin and shifted his weight.

"Does this make you feel brave?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Does this make you stronger, more virile at night when you take your wife to bed, perhaps? What does it do for your masculinity to shoot a damned animal in a cage?"

"Levesque—"

Erik lowered the rifle. Rage like he had never known roared through him as he stared at Joseph DeChantel. Everything he hated about himself was locked within a cage.

"You listen to me when I speak," he said as he poked Joseph in the chest with the rifle. "For as long as I have known you all I have done is listen to you and your damned family until I was blue in the face. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of all of you, every damned one of you," he said as he turned the firearm around and pointed the butt of the rifle at the three men gawking at him.

"If you don't want to hunt—"

"This isn't a hunt, it's a caged kill," Erik replied. He pointed the muzzle at Joseph. "We could make this a hunt if that's what you want. How fast can you run, Joseph? Or shall I lock you in a cage as well?"

"What in the hell are you doing. Levesque—"

"How about the two of you? Who wants to die first?"

Both men surrendered at once and held their hands over their heads.

Erik shifted his aim back to the cage and fired a single shot. Both cats jumped and squirmed against one another. The man standing by the cage dropped the bar from his hands and ran to safety on the other side of the stone wall. He was terrified of the young man who had walked up to the hunt but had instead become a red-faced madman carrying a rifle.

"I'll draft you a check for ten thousand francs," Erik said as he pulled at the broken lock and watched it fall to the ground. He threw the cage door open and snatched the pole from the ground. With the rifle still in hand, he gestured for the two men to drop their weapons, which they did without question.

Erik turned back to the frightened animals. The male crouched low and bared its teeth in a defiant hiss at the weapons in Erik's hands. Within its eyes Erik saw something familiar: fear. It was something he had seen in the eyes of every man and woman facing execution. It was a feeling he was acutely aware of within his own soul.

For a moment he wondered who hated mankind more, the tigers or himself. He smiled wryly at the two frightened beasts snarling at him. At least they had a chance to escape. They could disappear into the wild, into the darkest reaches of the forest and seek solitude. There was no such escape for Erik.

"I suggest you find a place to hide," Erik said through his teeth as he turned back to the three men. He ran the steel rod along the bars, sending all three scrambling to safety. The shrill sound agitated both cats into scurrying about until the female darted for the exit with the male directly behind her.

Within seconds they disappeared into the tall grass and the shelter of the trees. Erik threw down the pole and the rifle and watched until the brush ceased to move and covered their paths.

His eyes turned back to the dead cat and its blood-matted neck. There was nothing to be done. The hide would turn into a rug on a rich European's floor. Audacious tales of a magnificent hunt would be told around a fire as men with snuffs of brandy stood around and boasted about how they crouched in the jungle for hours and made the big kill.

Listening to them made Erik want to crawl into a hole and escape the whole human race. Every day that passed he hated the people around him a little more. There was no place for him. There had never been a place for him.

Erik knew what would transpire. Joseph DeChantel would most likely cancel plans for dinner and the operetta. He would write home and tell his parents what a mongrel the Levesque boy had become over the years. They would shake their heads and shrug their shoulders. None of it mattered. He couldn't return to France. Once his parents heard of him pointing guns and threatening three men they would never have him again. He would be branded a madman. There would be no place for him.

Once again Erik had alienated himself from his peers.

For the first time, he no longer cared.


	20. Shringaar

In the last chapter Erik refused to shoot two tigers in a cage.

Ch 20

Corinna watched as Erik jogged across the street. He paused when the gun fired and she saw his hands ball into fists. As much as she wanted to hate him, it pleased her that he would not readily kill something.

_He's not a mindless murderer_, she thought to herself. A smile played at the corner of her lips.

After two months, she had not figured Erik out the way she had hoped. The first few days, he had been quiet and had kept a respectful distance. Once they had dined together a few times he had shed his reclusive side and become more enjoyable.

Too enjoyable.

Corinna found herself longing for his exclusive attention. She held her breath every time he turned away from her to speak to someone else. Her heart raced each time he smiled or gazed at her.

It seemed silly but he intrigued her with his French accent. Erik wasn't the first Frenchman she had ever encountered. Living in London she had met many people, many handsome young men who were Italian, Greek, French, Spanish, and even American.

But she was drawn to Erik. It wasn't his smile, the divot in his chin or the way he spoke. It was his eyes.

Even when he was gone she could still see his light eyes and dark lashes. He had eyes like the sea, lost somewhere between blue and green where the color changed depending on the shade of his clothing. Corinna blushed when she thought of how she wanted to stare into his eyes and listen to him speak forever.

He boasted of great things, of what he would do when he left India—and what he would leave behind for the world to remember him. As he bragged about his plans for architecture and how he would return to Paris and change the musical world, Corinna saw the uncertainty and the loneliness. It made her shudder when she thought of how distanced he was from people like Joseph DeChantel.

Corinna had seen the consternation in his eyes before Joseph interrupted their conversation. She had heard the slight tremble in Erik's voice when he had asked to speak to her later.

_If only he knew what we shared,_ she thought.

Corinna fought to keep herself from weeping. He had no way of knowing how shunned she felt by her family.

"Excuse me?"

Corinna looked up and saw the mousy-haired European standing before her. It was the Dutch girl, she thought.

"Oh, Anna, don't bother that one. She only speaks Indian."

"We should tell her about lunch," Anna replied over her shoulder to her companion who was twirling a parasol over her shoulder.

The other woman scoffed. "Well, fine, if you must. I was hoping we could leave her and that other one to eat alone."

Corinna looked away. They were talking about her and Ursula as though they were ignorant animals.

"If you want to join us for lunch, we're going to be at the restaurant on the corner," Anna shouted and pointed down the street. She used her hands to make a sign of eating as she smiled pleasantly.

"She doesn't understand you," the other woman protested. "Haven't you seen anything in this country? They know nothing here."

Corinna stood and looked across the street. "We know more than you think," she said to the two of them.

The woman gawked at Corinna for a moment and nervously pulled on her necklace. She turned to her friend and the other woman shook her head.

"I—I didn't know—" the one with the mousy brown hair stammered.

"And now you do. Will you take it back?"

The woman nodded readily, crossing her arms and pulling nervously at her sleeves. "You should have said something."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have said anything," Corinna hissed.

Without another word, she stormed across the street, eyes burning with unshed tears. As she made her way to Ursula she jumped at the sound of another gunshot.

"What? What did he say to you?"

"Nothing," Corinna answered.

"Then why are you crying?"

Corinna's hands still trembled from the alarming sound of the gunshot. She squeezed Ursula's hand and averted her eyes. "They've already killed one."

"One what?"

"Tigers. They were going to hunt tigers."

Ursula shrugged. "Don't think about it. Come, Corinna, the others are waiting for us at the restaurant."

Corinna sighed. "I don't care."

"What would your father think of you wanting to spend time with that pig rather than with your lady friends?"

Corinna glared at her. "They're not my friends. I barely know them."

"You're better off with them than with Levesque. He's going to get you into trouble. Is that what you want?"

"This isn't about Erik!"

"Then what is it?"

"They think we're all ignorant!" Corinna shouted, pointing toward the restaurant. "They think we're mindless animals roaming about the streets."

Ursula stared at her for a moment. "Quit shouting. It's unladylike to raise your voice."

"I'm going back to the Inn. I have no desire to spend my time with those wretched Europeans."

Ursula rolled her eyes. "They're your blood."

Corinna's mouth hardened. "When I am in London, I'm an Indian, a foreigner, filth. When I'm in India, I'm a half-breed European. I'm foreign to my family and filth to them as well."

"Sit down."

"No, you may do as you wish for the rest of the afternoon. I'm going to the room and waiting until tea."

"Corinna—"

Corinna batted Ursula's hands away. "I hate it here. I hate it everywhere."

"You let that foolish man upset you."

"He hasn't upset me!"

"You came in crying last night because of him."

Corinna turned away and crossed her arms. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Forget him, Corinna. He's nothing. He's a worthless pig of a man."

"He is not. You have known him as long as I have and not once has he said or acted against us. He has been good to us. You cannot say that he has been lecherous. He's a good man, a very good man."

"You don't know him, Corinna," Ursula said. She half smiled. "I don't want to see you hurt by him."

"I won't be hurt by him. I want to know him…I want to know him better than this."

"If your father heard the way you were talking—"

"Then I would tell him I'm in love with Erik and he would be happy for me."

"Corinna, you cannot love this man. Your father would be horrified."

Corinna started walking back toward the Inn with Ursula close behind. She glanced over her shoulder at the hard-faced woman who had traveled with her from Indian to London and back. Corinna knew Ursula was concerned for her. She didn't want to see her hurt.

"Oh, Ursula, you needn't worry. Father would because he was happy with my mother. He wouldn't care if Erik wasn't Indian."

"Oh, you foolish girl. You shouldn't say things like that. That man is an outcast—even to his own people he's nothing but an outcast. Didn't you see those men arguing about his coming on the hunt? I could tell by the way they were gesturing toward him that none of them wanted a thing to do with him."

"Good. None of them are as valiant as they think."

"Corinna, watch yourself. He's not here to court you, child, your father sent him to act as a guardian. Besides, you know what he is after. If he's looking for an Indian princess, he's found one in Anisha." Ursula smirked when she spoke. "You know what she has that he wants."

"Exotic beauty."

"No. _Shringaar." _

_The power of beauty._

With the tiger hunt cut short and his wife sent away to the restaurant, Joseph DeChantel cut across the street and rounded the corner. He mopped his brow with a monogrammed kerchief and opened the red door.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright midday sun to the darkened hall. The door at the end of the hall opened before he approached.

"Back so soon?" the woman asked.

Joseph grinned at the dark beauty. "I've been thinking of you all day."

"How flattering," she replied. "How was your hunt?"

His face darkened. "That damned idiot waved his gun around and started spitting and cursing like the devil."

She tilted her head to the side as she leaned against the doorframe. "Who?"

"Levesque."

A thin-lipped smile graced her face. "How long have you known him?"

Joseph stepped past her and entered the room. "Since I was a child. And you?"

"Since he was commissioned to build my home."

"Home?" Joseph asked. He glanced around the room, squinting as he searched the small table and the top of the dresser. He spotted his pocket watch and smiled as he scooped it up. "I forgot this last night."

She smiled at him. "There were more important things to consider," she said as she began to unwrap her sari.

"So what is this talk of building a home?"

"Yes, for me and my future husband."

Joseph's face flushed. He started to pull his shirt over his head but paused. "Husband, you say?"

"Not yet. Not for a few months," she replied. "You have nothing to fear, Joseph, I am promised but not claimed."

"I suppose he'll build you a palace as well?"

This time, she stopped. "What do you mean?"

Joseph flopped down on the bed and sat with his hands on his knees. He tossed his shirt aside and fixed his eyes on her body as it appeared inch by inch from beneath the bright blue sari. "He built one for a sultan from what I understand. He sent my father a letter two years ago when he was in Persia."

"Persia?"

Joseph gazed up at the woman he had just met the previous night. There were still marks on her chest where he had nipped her in the heat of passion. "Surely he came with recommendations from the sultan?"

"Surely," she replied.

Joseph smiled. "As much as I would love to discuss him, I would prefer to do so at another time."

"Why is that?" Anisha asked as she knelt on the bed and wrapped her arms around Joseph's neck.

"Because you are too beautiful for words," he murmured as he kissed her throat.


	21. Chapter 21

A HUGE thank you to Hermine! What would I do without you? And many cyber-hugs to Penkitten for first bringing up that this chapter was nowhere near finished. The honesty of my beta readers is invaluable, so thanks Candy and Teresa for reading and re-reading, and Carol who pointed out many a mistake.

Sorry it took so long! Thanks for waiting! Please please please review this!

Ch 21

Erik sat down on the ground with his back to the dead tiger and the smell of gunpowder still making his eyes water and his nose burn. The mud and brick wall was scorching against his back, which made him pull away a moment before easing back into place. The scars were still tender, the wounds still sensitive to heat and pressure. He moved his legs and coughed out dirt which had been stirred up from him sitting on the ground.

None of it mattered. Nothing concerned him any longer. He dug his fingers into the dry earth and felt grateful for something so insignificant beneath his fingernails.

Two Indian men came around the corner with one of Joseph's friends and tied ropes around the dead animal's legs. In morbid curiosity he glanced over his shoulder and watched them haul the cat out of the cage and drag it into a nearby stucco building. Through the open windows he heard the two men talking as they began skinning the dead animal. The sound of ripping made Erik's lips curl up in a grimace. Within moments the pungent smell of blood had filled the air.

The European, Theodore, watched Erik from the corner of his eye as the men cleaned the hide. He was an ugly, broad-faced man with a nose to large for his face and wide-set blue eyes. His hair was thinning in the front. By the looks of him he was Dutch, which explained his cheap shoes.

Sickened by the man coming back to retrieve his prize, Erik rose to his feet and walked away. He had no regrets in sparing the two Bengal tigers but he had reservations about sparing Joseph and his two companions.

"He's mad," he heard Theodore say to one of the Indians commissioned to tan the hide. Erik glanced over his shoulder. The man listening to Theodore, a short, dark-skinned man with blood-covered hands, nodded to Theodore's words. "If Joseph had any sense at all he would have had him arrested. He's dangerous. A dangerous imbecile on the loose! Men like that should be locked up."

"Dangerous, yes," the little old man replied. He looked down at his blood-sticky hands and walked back into the small stucco building.

As Erik rounded the corner he stopped. What did this Dutchman know of danger or madness? They hadn't even exchanged words or properly met. Erik turned slowly, teeth gnashing together, hands balled into fists. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as rage consumed him. No one knew who he was. No one knew anything about him.

He stormed over, stiff-legged and hard-faced, toward the man who noticed him far too late to prepare his defense.

"Dangerous?" Erik seethed. He backed Theodore up against the building. "You think I am a madman capable of killing?"

The man swallowed hard and shook his head. "You need to calm down. The heat has clearly affected you."

"What affects me is bastards like you who don't deserve to live. If you dare say another word I will make sure it will be your last. And don't for a second believe it is an empty threat," Erik said. He grabbed Theodore by the throat and slammed him hard into the wall.

Theodore struggled, gasping and gurgling in an attempt to breath. The harder Erik pressed into his trachea the less noise Theodore made. "I've ended more worthwhile lives than yours."

The fleshy face turned from ruddy to blue the longer Erik suspended his breathing. The flailing about and fighting slowed, and for the first time Erik realized Theodore had scratched him along the neck in his struggle to breathe.

The fear in Theodore's eyes tempered Erik's murderous rage. The man was certain his life was over. At any moment Erik expected he would urinate on himself and fall to his knees.

There was no reward in killing a sniveling coward. Erik loosened his grip and stepped away knowing he had done enough to put the fear of God into this man.

"Don't you ever call me mad again. Don't you ever even think of me again or I'll strangle you," he said as he turned and walked away.

Theodore fell to his knees and retched almost immediately. The Dutchman struggled for his voice and called out to the two Indians cleaning his prized tiger skin.

As he jogged around the corner, the need to vomit hit Erik swiftly. He covered his mouth with the same hand he had just used to threaten Theodore's life and walked into the alley. Chill replaced the scorching heat he had felt all day, and the bright sunlight turned to shadows.

Nothing came from his empty stomach except acid which burned his nostrils and the back of his throat. He spit into the dirt and crouched down on his knees. He wanted to disappear, to sink into the earth and be forgotten.

Wickedness like he had never known had emerged from some hidden place in his being like a black geyser sputtering from the earth. A shiver rattled his body. He was no better than the Sultana. Erik ran his hand over his face and wondered if perhaps he was worse. She had only ordered deaths. He had put plans into work to see them realized.

"Are you alright?" he heard a woman ask.

Turning, he saw Lilian standing behind him with a lemon yellow parasol resting on her shoulder. Erik coughed up another bout of acid and wiped his mouth and nose. His throat burned from the sickness that rose from his gut.

"I'm sorry," he said as he brushed dirt over the spot where he had spit in the alley. "I'll be fine."

"Your little friend left in quite a hurry. She seemed somewhat upset."

Erik wanted to shout at Lilian for the condescending tone of her voice but stopped himself. She would not do anything malicious. In fact, from the limited conversation they had had she seemed far too decent to be married to Joseph.

Erik shaded his eyes from the sun with the back of his hand. "Where did she go?"

"Back to the Inn."

"I thought the women were enjoying lunch together?"

"She and the other woman with her were arguing. I believe Joseph went to check on her."

The last person Erik wanted looking for Corinna was Joseph DeChantel. He had worked for the DeChantel Family long enough to see Joseph's mistakes leave the estates in disgrace.

"I should go check on Corinna," Erik said as he held onto the wall and climbed to his feet.

"Oh, Joseph will take good care of her. He's always the first to offer assistance. I've never seen a man like him before."

Erik nodded in return. "Thank you, Madame DeChantel. Enjoy your lunch."

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"I'll be fine," he replied.

"You know, I wanted to speak with you about my cousin. She's a student in the ballet. She's living in France."

"Another time."

Lilian nodded. "If you ever need a contact for the opera, I'm sure she would help you. I'll give you her name tomorrow at supper."

Erik had forgotten their plans. "Tomorrow then," he muttered as he walked away.

Something dangerous and dark clouded his mind as he stalked toward the Inn. Erik thought about the emptied cages and the scattered firearms and realized he had one regret: he wished he had killed Joseph DeChantel. He wished he had pointed the muzzle at Joseph's face and blown away his handsome features. He wished he had drawn back the hammer and killed all three of them.

Surprisingly, he felt no remorse. He felt nothing but apathy. Erik's only reluctance was that he would have had to shoot all three of them and guns resulted in bloody, messy deaths.

I could strangle him, Erik thought. The scene that had entered his mind made him smile in sickening delight. It would be quiet and it would be easy. There would be no mess, no regret, nothing to stop him. If he had a rope, a simple two feet of rope to wrap around Joseph's fat neck he could do it. He could do it.

Erik shuddered at his impetuous thoughts. Everything he had regretted about Persia had been forgotten in the blink of an eye. One moment of anger had smothered his moral conscience., had consumed everything he was trying to become again. He wanted to be the Erik Levesque he had been before Persia, before designs of death and palaces and mazes. He wanted to be the boy scribbling plans on scraps of paper.

His lip trembled at the thought of it. He couldn't find that person anymore.

"For three years you didn't have a conscience," he muttered to himself. He paused and looked at his hands, at the deep scratches Theodore had torn into his wrist. The marks had not hurt until he looked at them. "If you ever had a conscience."

In three years he had become wealthy. He had made a small fortune on his own while working for the Sultan. There had been dinners with beautiful woman and dancing in the middle of the banquet halls. Erik had gone to bed on many a night and dreamt of hips sliding back and forth, navels with small jewels glimmering in the candlelight. He had lived in the shadow of the Sultan, knowing pleasure but never experiencing it.

There would be no more living in any man's shadow. He would do as he wanted when he felt so inclined. As Erik neared the front door of the Inn there was only one concern on his mind.

He was in charge of looking after Corinna. He would not disappoint her father. The last thing he had promised Mr. Desai still buzzed in his mind as he stared at the red door. It would be the last order he would take from another man.

Hands balled into fists, Erik walked up the stairs.

Joseph had better keep his filthy hands off of Corinna or there would be hell to pay.

There was more than merely the need to protect Corinna from harm. Erik wanted desperately to speak with her before he did anything or saw anyone else. He had nearly choked a man he didn't know. As he walked up the wooden stairs and stood on the porch the situation hit him hard. His hands felt cold and clammy but he was sweating profusely.

The sense of guilt that had followed his vile thoughts was welcomed. He could still be redeemed. He had not fallen so far into hell that he couldn't be retrieved.

Anisha was walking out of her room when Erik was walking into the Inn. By the look on her face she seemed surprised to see him.

"Have you seen Corinna?" he panted.

"Am I her wet nurse?"

Erik exhaled and ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth. "Quit being snide. Have you seen her or not?"

Anisha rolled her eyes. "She's in her room as far as I know. She and Ursula walk back and forth through here like cattle."

Erik sighed. Knowing that Corinna was safe in her room subdued his burst of anger though he was irritated by Anisha's response. "Was it just the two of them?"

Anisha left the door open behind her and crossed her arms. "Were you expecting someone else to join them?"

Erik shook his head. "I need to check on her."

He looked away from Anisha and stared at the doors at the top of the stairs. He realized that he had completely lost track of the time. A quick glance at his pocket watch showed he had forgotten to wind it that the morning.

"Do you have the time?" he asked.

Anisha looked down the hallway. She walked three doors down and knocked. To Erik's surprise, Joseph walked out. He brushed a kiss past Anisha's cheek but she pushed him away and mumbled that Erik was there as well.

The moment the two men glanced at one another an uncomfortable silence settled into the hall. Joseph looked away first.

"It's just past two," Anisha said as she turned to face Erik. A slight smiled pulled at the corners of her lips. "Have a moment to spare? I would really appreciate seeing what you have planned for my home."

Erik switched his gaze back to Joseph and thought of poor, sweet Lilian enjoying lunch with her friends. By the wrinkled condition of Joseph's shirt Erik knew exactly what the lecherous beast had been up to.

In his heart, he knew he should have said no. He should have excused himself and been on his way. Corinna expected him for tea in an hour. He would not disappoint her. He needed to speak with her, especially after what had happened with the Dutchman.

"I believe I do have a moment to spare," Erik said with a dark grin. "I'll meet you in the outdoor café in ten minutes."

"Meet me in the hall and we shall walk together."

Erik nodded. "Fine."

He felt a distinct rise of satisfaction in knowing he could take what he wanted. Especially from Joseph.

"Monsieur DeChantel," Erik called out.

Joseph looked at him. For the first time Joseph looked slightly embarrassed to have been caught in the company of another woman.

"I believe your wife is looking for you," Erik said before he grasped the banister and went on his way.

Joseph stammered. As he reached the top of the stairs, Erik heard him trying to explain himself to Anisha. He stood before Corinna and Ursulas's door and smirked. It was good to hold the upper hand. Very good indeed.


	22. Desires

Ch 22

A little man with a balding pate chased Erik up the stairs.

"Senor, lo siento, su—"

"No hablo espanol. Habla frances?"

The man made a gesture with his hands showing that he spoke very little French. For the life of him, Erik couldn't figure out why the man assumed he knew Spanish.

"What about English?"

"Eh! You speak many nice tongue. Nice tongue!"

Erik nodded, his patience wearing thin. He could understand English better than he could speak it. After being in India for several weeks he had hoped to gain better knowledge of the dialect but everywhere he went someone spoke a different language. He had even noticed times when Corinna and Ursula struggled to understand one another.

"You pictures." The man made another hand gesture showing something long, which Erik knew referred to his portfolio.

"Yes, my pictures."

"They go smash."

"What?"

"I dunno, man man."

Erik shifted his weight. "What do you mean 'they go smash'? They were crushed?"

"Crushed?"

"Smashed. Ruined. Destroyed."

"Yes, yes, yes."

Erik sighed. "Where is my port—where are my pictures?"

"Room," the little man said. He pointed at the door behind Erik.

"Everything is in there?"

The man nodded. "Big box too. Owe much money."

The man stuck his hand out.

"What?" Erik asked.

"Money."

Erik waved his hand. "I don't understand what you mean. Find someone who speaks French and send him up here."

"French?"

Before Erik could shout at the messenger, Corinna and Ursula's door swung open. Ursula glared at Erik before she turned and yelled for Corinna.

Once the man saw Ursula he began rambling something which Erik could only assume concerned the portfolio and missing luggage. They both pointed at him while arguing with one another. After several moments Ursula waved her arms and shooed the bald man away. She yelled for Corinna again, shouted something at Erik, and shut the door. The little man said something in Hindi and threw his arms in the air before he stomped down the stairs and around the corner to his office.

Erik stood in the hallway unsure of what had just happened. Leaning against the wall he closed his eyes and sighed. Of course his portfolio was destroyed. Everything was destroyed. He was far beyond irritation. There was no choice but to smile and laugh at the situation. At least he knew where his belongings were now.

The door opened again and Corinna appeared. In the background Ursula was still yelling. He pushed off the wall.

"You didn't go to lunch?"

"The man came to tell you that your drawings were crushed beneath a trunk," Corinna said the moment she saw Erik. "The concierge wants money."

"Excuse me?"

"For telling you that it was destroyed."

He shifted his weight. "Who destroyed it?"

"Probably the concierge," she said with a chuckle. She cleared her throat and looked away in an attempt to keep the smile from her face.

"I am not paying anyone to tell me they ruined my work," he snapped. He wanted desperately to curse but chose not to in front of a lady. "I spent three weeks on those plans."

Corinna shrugged. "Welcome to India." She turned back toward him and pushed a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. "How bad is it?"

"I have no idea. I haven't had a chance to return to my room," Erik sighed. He looked at her again and noticed she had changed clothes. The blue sari she had worn earlier in the day had been exchanged for an orange one with white and blue flowers embroidered in the fabric. "Why did you come back to your room? I thought you were having lunch with Lilian and her friends."

Corinna shrugged again. She glanced behind her and muttered something to Ursula, who said Erik's name and made a sound of disgust. "I wasn't hungry."

Corinna turned to the side and averted her eyes. Erik looked her over quickly while she wasn't looking. Her complexion, though dark, appeared somewhat sallow. She looked tired, particularly around the eyes.

His heart sank. "Would you rather have tea tomorrow?"

His words caught her by surprise and she turned to face him again. "It doesn't matter."

"If you're not feeling well…" Erik paused and switched his gaze to a knot in the wood of the doorframe. He prayed to God she would still meet him in an hour. With each passing moment his misery increased. The scratches on his wrist had started to burn now and he was acutely aware of his injuries.

He had tried to kill someone. With his bare hands he had tried to choke a man.

"You don't look like you're feeling well," Corinna commented. "Your face is bone white."

Erik touched his cheek.

"Goodness, what happened to your arm?" Corinna exclaimed.

Erik attempted to pull his sleeve down. "It's nothing."

"Is that from the tigers?"

Her words made him chuckle. "I believe if a tiger had scratched me, I would no longer have an arm."

"Or a face. You have another on your jaw. Come inside a moment and sit down. You shouldn't touch anything here. Cats are feral, not pets. It would be like trying to pet a squirrel in Paris or London."

Erik nodded, deciding not to correct her assumption. He allowed her to take his arm like a little mother leading an injured child. She sat him down and scurried about saying she needed a bandage and some towels.

"Really, you're making a fuss over nothing," Erik said as he watched her open and close dresser drawers.

"You don't want the abrasions to become infected. Especially the one right here," she said as she tapped her own jaw line. "It will leave a terrible scar."

Erik nodded. He glanced in the full length mirror across the room and saw a thin red line stretching from his ear to the middle of his jaw. It didn't appear nearly as bad as she made it out to be, but he didn't complain.

He wondered if she was thinking of the scars on his back when she spoke.

"Are you comfortable?" Corinna asked.

"Yes, really, I'm fine, Corinna."

"What happened with the tiger hunt?"

"They shot one. The other two escaped."

"Escaped? So your warning shot worked?"

"Yes, I expect it did."

Ursula said something to Corinna before she turned her back.

Corinna ignored whatever her companion said. She placed a towel on the desk behind him and searched the room again. "Soap," she said to herself. She snapped her fingers and went to the trunk she and Ursula shared.

Erik sat back and crossed one leg over the other. It felt good to have someone concerned over his well-being. While he watched Corinna pour water into a small wooden bowl he couldn't help but think she would make a perfect doting little wife. He could see her with a brood of little boys and girls at her feet. Any man would be fortunate to ask her father for her hand.

The longer he sat and stared at her the more he dreaded revealing his years in Persia. She was a good girl, a sweet girl. She had taken it as a sincere compliment when he had told her that even if there were a dozen young women aboard the ship she would still be in the top twelve.

_She's innocent,_ he thought to himself. _She's five years younger and a world away from me. She's pure. She's…perfect._

Erik looked away. He focused his gaze on a shabby woven rug beneath his feet. He could tell her about Persia. He could tell her everything and destroy what he was most fond of: her unsullied disposition. He could ravage her beautiful mind, rape her of her good thoughts within minutes. He could soothe himself, sate himself if he destroyed something precious of hers.

She would fear him. She would be terrified to discover that the shepherd sent to guard the lamb was actually a wolf with a bloody maw. The thought made him shudder. He didn't want her to know him, not like this.

Corinna sat across from Erik and gently unbuttoned his shirt sleeve. She rolled it up to the middle of his forearm and dipped a small white rag into the soapy water.

"This will sting," she warned him.

Erik nodded. He wanted the sting, the discomfort, the pain. He couldn't hurt Corinna. Not like this. Not by ruining her trust.

For three years he had been trusted to break spirits and end lives. He didn't want to demolish anything more.

The cool rag touched his neck and startled him. Erik sat very still. The water was tepid, the gentle drag of soft cotton languid. It evoked something he hadn't expected from the cleaning of a mere cut.

Erik swallowed hard and attempted to stare at anything other than Corinna. He feared looking at her face, at her body hidden only by a long sheet carefully wrapped around her shoulders, breasts, hips…thighs.

He was aroused. The innocent caress had opened a lecherous door he wanted to slam shut again. His eyes began to close and he envisioned the warm, damp washcloth as her tongue skimming along his jaw line, down his throat, down to…

_God strike me dead,_ he thought. Her father would be livid if he knew the man escorting his daughter to India was thinking of the places she could run her lips and tongue along his body.

Erik let out an involuntary gasp of disgust at his vile thoughts. He couldn't think of her in that way. He couldn't think of her at all. At least not until her father returned to India. Once he no longer had to protect her virtue…

_I care for her. I'm not in love with her. _Erik held his breath. He wasn't sure what he was other than on the brink of a cataclysmic disaster. If she noticed the interest emerging within his trousers she would be completely horrified at his lack of self control.

He couldn't think of her. Not even something small, like her thumb, which he could imagine sucking on, or her ear, which he suddenly wanted to nibble, or her shoulder that he wanted to slowly kiss.

Erik drew in a breath. He had always been good at imagining. It had made the nights following banquets with the sultan all the more lonely and miserable. Weekly he had seen the most beautiful, most voluptuous women moving their hips in ways that he was certain he would go to hell for watching. He could imagine what pleasures their lackadaisical movements would make against silk sheets and pillows. It had always been a passing thought.

The lurid visions drowning out all clarity made him ache.

"Is the water too cold?" Corinna asked as she pulled her hand back.

Erik shook his head. Their eyes met briefly and he wasn't sure if she knew what he was thinking or if she thought he was behaving strangely. Erik looked around the room to quell the sudden urge which needed to be neglected. It was impossible. The curtain rods, the bed posts, were too suggestive, the bed too inviting, the mirror too revealing.

He cleared his throat when he felt he could look at her without fear of rekindling the forbidden flame.

"I should see what damage has been done to my work," Erik replied. He pushed his chair out and started to stand.

"But your arm," Corinna protested.

"I'll have a look at it," he replied.

Corinna looked away. "Do you still want to go to tea?"

"Perhaps we should plan on dinner instead."

She nodded yet refused to lift her eyes. Erik exhaled. He had hurt her feelings. After she had put aside his treatment of her the previous night, he again discarded her once she had tended his wounds.

"Rest awhile. The heat is unbearable," Erik said. He stepped forward but resisted the urge to touch her hand. "I'll be in my room if you need anything."

"What were you going to tell me?" Corinna asked before he turned to leave.

Erik lowered his eyes. "It was nothing."


	23. The Scorpion Blade

Ch 23

_"Follow the sound of my voice…"_

_The Sultana spoke in a breathy whisper. She laughed at him before she disappeared from sight, taking her infinite reflections with her into hiding. For a moment Erik stood stock-still and listened to the mirrored door slide shut behind him. He waited for the sound of footsteps and the appearance of guards coming to take him away, but nothing happened. _

_She had brought him here to die. Death was the price of his insolence._

_"This way, Frenchman," she commanded, the sultry tone of her voice turning harsh._

_Erik dragged himself forward. There were candles placed throughout the Little Sultana's apartment where normally there were only smooth marble floors and columns reflecting the flames in the hearth and the torches along the walls._

_None of it was visible past the high walls displaying his distraught face. Erik glanced at the mirrors on either side of his path and overhead. It gave the illusion that he was walking in a sea of fire._

_There was no choice but to walk forward. Another door behind him closed and disoriented his perception. He was being driven ahead like a steer being coaxed to the killing shed._

_"The palace is almost complete," the Sultana purred. Erik made a sharp turn toward the right. "Your uses here dwindle." _

_Erik stepped to the left. He reached out to what he thought was a mirror, but ran his fingers through flame. His breath hissed past his teeth as he maneuvered further into the maze. He knew where he was going. He had designed the labyrinth months ago. _

_"I can extend your stay and make it very pleasurable for you," the Little Sultana tempted. "Or I can destroy your life." Her voice deepened and grewq more distant. "It is your choice, Frenchman."_

_The mirrors formed a tunnel at the doorway. Erik hesitated. He had arrived at the room where he had constructed a torture chamber beneath the floor._

_She had brought him to her bed chamber._

_Erik squeezed his hands into fists. He needed to buy his time. "Tell me my choices again."_

_There was no answer in the mirrored hall. The candles flickering around him hissed as the evening breeze entered through an unseen window. He felt cool, salty sea air against the left side of his face. One by one the flames to his left sputtered and died leaving tendrils of smoke like little white ghosts in the air._

_Another door slid shut to his right. The maze was becoming smaller. She was closing the cage. Slowly his eyes scanned the panels. There should have been a spring somewhere that would open a straight path to the outside._

_"Do you like it, Frenchman?" the Sultana asked. She laughed to herself, a harsh sound that made his legs stiffen. "I changed a few of your plans, but for the most part it is an exact replica. It's quite exceptional, don't you think?"_

_She watched him from behind a glass panel, examining her prey ensnared in its own trap. Erik took a step back. He had counted his steps and noted every turn within the maze. Even if the walls shifted he was fairly certain he could find his way out again. He knew the number of turns the walls made and the pattern they followed to an exit._

_"There are guards at my door," the Sultana said. "What do you think would be the punishment for a man seen leaving my quarters?"_

_"The consequences would be shared," Erik replied. "Would you risk something so foolish?"_

_She laughed at the futility of his words. "Frenchman, do you honestly think I am an ignorant woman? You underestimate my power and prowess. Come to me. Make your choice." _

_Erik's hand brushed against his right hip as he entered the bedchamber, fingers grazing the ivory guard of his dagger. The Sultana stood before him._

_"Welcome," she said._

_Her hand slowly raised, fingers stretching out as she motioned him forward. "You failed to amuse me in the maze. Entertain me a while," she said. Her voice dripped like honey into his mind, luring him to her._

_A muffled shout turned his feet to lead. Erik looked around the open room and saw the familiar brass candleholders and gossamer curtains drifting in the sea breeze. Small silver beads that had been threaded onto the satin tiebacks created a soft ballad as the wind blew. Once the breeze settled the noises under his feet became more pronounced. _

_It was the sound of drums. Pounding. Erik's breath caught in his throat. The Sultana held someone captive in the torture chamber._

_"I said entertain me a while," the Sultana said forcefully. Her jade eyes narrowed and the dagger she always carried flashed into view, its broad side reflecting the golden flames at his back. "Do you wish to know who I have within my grasp?" She tapped the rug with her toes. "Roll this back."_

_Erik looked from her to the woven rug covering the two-way mirror set into the floor. He swallowed hard and crouched down fearing who he would discover inside the torture chamber below._

_There was a man wandering through the Steel Jungle. Erik recognized him immediately as one of the workers from the rock quarry. The man's shirtless back was red and blistered._

_"He's lasted three days without food or water, but I believe he will break soon," the Sultana said._

_This man was one of Erik's best workers. He came six days a week and labored from dawn until well after dusk to feed his five children. He was a good man, a hard worker. He was a man who would soon die in an apparatus Erik had built._

_Fear diminished. Anger flared._

_"What did he…" Erik glanced up and saw that the Sultana was gone. He rose to his feet sensing a trap. When the knife's tip pricked his lower back he froze. She was going to stab him in the kidneys._

_"When I desire something, it becomes mine," the Sultana hissed. "I am obeyed. I am never denied and my words are not questioned. Do you understand?"_

_He nodded. The blade ripped through his shirt and lightly traced against his flesh. If she asserted more pressure it would cut him. If she allowed it to graze slightly higher it would softly caress. She balanced it well, maintaining a dangerous stroke between pleasure and pain._

_The Sultana pressed the tip in the middle of his back, directly on his spine. Erik knew she wasn't going to kill him quickly. She was going to leave him paralyzed. She was a cat holding a mouse by its tail. _

_"You know what I want. Now turn and face me."_

_For the first time in three years, Erik saw the smile usually hidden beneath her veil. It was just as appalling as he had always assumed. Her lips were thin, her mouth hardened. She looked like a porcelain doll with flawless titian skin. It reminded him of how beautiful his grandmother had looked when she was laid out to rest, alarming yet alluring, drawing him back yet inching him forward. Even though Erik knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life he wanted to see more._

_The Sultana stepped forward. Erik quickly remembered himself and looked away. She belonged to the Sultan. Gazing upon her was punishable by death, being in her apartments guaranteed execution, touching her—_

_"My husband is allowed many wives," the Sultana said as she stepped around to Erik's side. "As his favored wife, I am allowed to do as I wish except find my own pleasures on the nights my bed is cold."_

_He watched her from the corner of his eye. "That is customary in your kingdom."_

_"Customs do not satisfy me."_

_The Sultana held the blade to the back of Erik's neck. He pulled his shoulders up as the tip of the blade penetrated his skin and turned clockwise. The place where the cold steel had entered quickly became warm and wet with his blood. Erik stood very still, barely breathing through the deepening pain._

_"I have watched you for the past three years, Frenchman. Every day I see you in the rock quarries or in the new apartments. Breathing, sweating, working…you're tireless. I admire a man with drive, with desire. It pleases me to watch you. You display great stamina."_

_Erik stared at the ground. It was unnerving that she had scrutinized him for so long. Women were not permitted near the rock quarries. They were not allowed to watch the men chiseling rock and hauling stone to the new palace._

_"You fascinate me, Frenchman. Did you know that?"_

_He merely shook his head to acknowledge her words._

_"During the day you work for the shah-of-shahs," she continued. "But my husband has agreed that after hours you belong to me."_

_Erik's eyes shot up and met her gaze. She returned a thin-lipped smile. "He knows I enjoy a little shiver," she assured him. She took the dagger and scraped the edge against the back of his neck before showing him the crimson pool resting on the broad side. Her finger slid down the blade and she rubbed his blood onto the palm of her hand. "Tell me, Frenchman, what can you do for me?"_

_Erik took a breath. "I—I would like to speak with the shah."_

_"He's with Gianna. It is best not to disturb him while he is preoccupied with his newest wife. The shah is old, not as virile as he was in his youth…not as fertile."_

_"He has twenty-seven children."_

_The Sultana turned the blade inward toward her wrist and touched the side of his face with her blood-stained fingernails. "He desires more children, especially from the womb of his favored wife."_

_Her words gave him goose bumps. There were too many hidden places in the palace for voices to be heard and trysts to be witnessed. _

_"Then I hope you give him another son," Erik said, his back straightening. He wanted to touch where the blade had made its incision but he didn't want to take his hand from the guard at his right hip. _

_The Sultana sighed. She played with her waist-length dark hair, raking her fingers through the pin-straight locks cascading over her shoulder. "There are pens and papers on my desk. I want to see the plans for the Garden of Death. Draw it while I bathe," the Sultana whispered. _

_"I'll take it to my—"_

_"Follow me," The Sultana said with a flick of her wrist. She sauntered away from him and dropped her deep red robe before she rounded the corner._

_As much as it sickened him, Erik couldn't take his eyes away from her bronzed skin, generous curves, and the dagger she held at her lower back, the curved silver resting between her kidneys. He had never noticed that the bronze guard was in the shape of a scorpion's tail._

_The Sultana glanced back at him once and turned the crimson-stained blade over in her hand. She pointed it toward him, lowering the sharpened tip at his groin. _

_"The poison from the scorpion works quickly," she said. "Disrobe. The anti-venom is in my bath."_


	24. Serum

_Ch 24_

_Panic. _

_Erik groped at the back of his neck. He first attempted to stop the flow of blood and to close the incision, but knew this would allow the poison to spread. He had seen men stung by scorpions twice in the rock quarry. Tourniquets cut off the flow of blood while the toxins were extracted from the wounds. He abandoned instinct and desperately tried to squeeze the venom from the wound._

_It wasn't working. And he knew terror would only make it worse. The blood would flow faster and the venom would reach his heart within mere seconds if he went into hysteria. He had to stay calm, harness his breathing, and slow his heart rate._

_Erik's eyes flashed through the room and saw hundreds of men staring back at him, all with faces drained of color and shoulders stained red. All of them were dying. All of them feared what the afterlife would bring._

_Erik didn't know what else to do to slow the effects. Blood covered his hands, making his trembling fingers stick together. He felt for his knife again and considered cutting into the injury and purging the bad blood. Without being able to see what he was doing he was certain he would bleed to death._

_He needed what was at the bottom of the bath._

_Erik cast his eyes down and felt along the arched doorway. The room mocked him with another door at the eastern end that led into the palace corridors. He was free to leave her apartments and guaranteed death if he did. _

_"Join me, Frenchman," the Sultana said in her sultry whisper. He heard the gentle splash of water ahead as he stumbled into the darkened room. _

_Erik glanced up long enough to see her floating on her back, her dark hair spread out like a fan behind her. A gossamer-like curtain of steam rose from the perfumed water and surrounded her. In the torchlight she glowed like a golden goddess, with long legs and small breasts. Erik could see by her appearance alone why she was the Sultan's favorite wife, but as he stood with his fingers pinched around the incision he found nothing inviting or alluring about her. She was a Persian Circe withholding the only thing that could save his life. _

_"Give me the anti-venom," he pleaded, blood-covered hand extended. He continued to massage blood out of the wound with his other hand. _

_The Sultana turned belly-down and glided toward him. She ignored the desperate tone of his voice and continued with her cat-like movements. She rested her arms on the tiled ledge and pushed her mahogany hair over her shoulders. Months ago she had the builders install a sheet of glass above her bath so sunlight could sparkle on the water during the day and moonlight would cast a silvery glow on cloudless nights. With the torches behind her back, the shadows made her eyes colorless pits. _

_"If you want to survive the night you will join me at once."_

_Erik pulled his hand away from his neck and swallowed hard as his blood dripped onto the smooth marble floor. He was disoriented though not sure if it was from the toxins or his nerves. Nothing made sense, least of all why she would desire him in her bed or her bath._

_Erik teetered forward until the toes of his shoes were at the very edge. _

_"Please," he whispered. He held his hand out and kept his eyes respectfully cast downward. "I've done everything you and the Sultan have asked. For three years—"_

_"For three years I have watched you. Since the day you came into employment here you have piqued my interest. You have been a rare delight."_

_"I'm a builder," Erik mumbled obstinately. He blinked slowly and took a step back from the edge._

_The Sultana kicked her feet beneath the water, creating gentle waves. "Not many men catch my eye, Frenchman. I am a fickle woman. I take lovers when it suits me. Tonight, you suit me." _

_"I'm going to die," Erik breathed as he fell to his knees and sat on the cool floor. Her voice grew increasingly distant as each heartbeat took him closer to his death._

_The Sultana smiled. "You've lost a lot of blood, though that will be the least of your concerns. Tell me, have you begun sweating yet?"_

_Erik glanced at her and then turned his eyes to the window. He wondered how far the palace physician was from the Sultana's apartments, but knew it would do him no good. Guards patrolled the gardens below her balconies. Within moments he would be seized._

_"Your heart rate will increase, your stomach will churn, your vision will fail, and then….then it will not be very pleasant. You may suffocate if the original wound swells against your windpipe." She stood upright and waded through the hip-deep water, skimming the water with her fingertips. "If you do not comply, I will be forced to watch you asphyxiate. There are many more fantastic ways to die, ways that would please me immensely. It would be a shame to see you gasping for air."_

_Erik managed to unbutton his shirt and kick his shoes aside. He slid feet-first into the bath—trousers still on and shirt draped over his shoulders—and waded mechanically toward the Sultana._

_"Where's the serum?" he asked._

_The Sultana drifted toward him, rising to her feet once they were only a few feet apart. "It is lonely to share a man's bed with nine other wives," she said. Her hands slowly pushed the shirt back from Erik's shoulders, her long nails trailing down his upper arms, along his bronzed skin and corded muscles. "So many nights pass in which I am alone."_

_Erik averted his eyes and felt the warmth of her hands run across his chest. Her fingers combed through the dark hair and she exhaled on his skin. The sensation of her cool breath against his warm flesh gave him goose bumps._

_"I've imagined what it would feel like to have you in my bed," the Sultana murmured as she stepped closer and placed her hands against his shoulders. She drew him to her, pressing his chest to hers until he felt the hardened peaks of her breasts crush against his body. _

_The pleasure he had expected from a woman's body did not emerge. He was being poisoned, dying slowly while she ran her hands along his ribcage and down to his stomach._

_"In daylight you serve the Sultan, but in the evening you serve me," she said against his neck. Her left hand took hold of his right hand. She rubbed her thumb over his rough fingers and sighed. "I will find uses for you, Frenchman."_

_The Sultana guided Erik's hand beneath the water's surface and urged him to touch her. _

_"Please give me the serum," he whispered as his fingers pressed into her._

_"Give me what I want," she sighed into his ear. "When I am satisfied, I will spare your life."_

_Erik drew his hand away but she took him by the wrist. _

_"What's this I see? You are a master of architecture, but a novice to pleasures of the flesh? How I love a new student."_

_Erik swallowed hard. The heat of the water and the loss of blood made him dizzy. The Sultana ran her damp hand against the back of his neck and dug her index finger into the dagger wound. She showed him the blood on her fingers and smiled. _

_"Life or death. The choice is yours," the Sultana purred as she placed his hand below her naval. "Life will more pleasurable for both of us, Frenchman. Come to me and I shall save you," the little Sultana coaxed. _

_"The venom—"_

_"Do as I say and I will give you the serum. Disobey me and I will watch you die."_

_He met her icy jade gaze and knew she was not bluffing. He was only a man, a body easily replaced in the quarries and in her bed. _

_"Allow me the serum now and I swear I will stay with you," Erik attempted to reason._

_The Sultana raised a brow. She took his left hand and ran it from her neck down to her hip, trying in vain to arouse him. "You will stay with me or die." _

_Erik merely nodded. He heard many lurid stories told by quarry workers and carpenters over the years he had worked for the Sultan. He overheard tales of a woman's mysterious body from men all too willing to tell him the details of their trysts. He knew what little throbbing secret his fingers caressed that turned her even breathing to harsh pants. _

_The Sultana's fingers deftly worked to release the buttons of his trousers. She struggled, tugging at his pants but to no avail. Erik started to pull his hand away from her silky coarse hair but she caught his hand in hers._

_"Don't stop," she said in a shuddering whisper as she released his wrist. "Don't you dare stop."_

_Erik did as he was told and continued the slow rhythm the Sultana had shown him. He listened to her breathing change while his eyes searched the bath's edge for a bottle of serum. There were several towels stacked near the steps leading into the water but nothing else. _

_She had hidden it from him._

_The Sultana moaned low in her throat and spread her thighs wider. Her head tipped back and she released a spasm against his touch. With a smile of satisfaction she pulled his hand away and lowered into the water until she knelt before him._

_"I need the serum. Please, Favored One, give me the serum," Erik begged. He was glad she had stepped away from him. His hands had started to tremble and the need to vomit was rising fast in the back of his throat._

_One by one the buttons popped open on his trousers. The Sultana took his hand as she glided through the water and led him to the sunken steps. She stood again and pushed on his shoulder, forcing him to sit. Erik stared off into the distance knowing he could not do what she wanted from him. He felt the water lap up to his lower chest as she placed her knees on either side of his hips and ran her fingers through his hair, grinding her thighs against his legs._

_Her caress made him shudder as she painted his shoulders and chest with his own blood, creating thin red trails along his skin._

_"You are not aroused?" she questioned._

_Erik refused to meet her eyes. He planted his hands against the smooth step where he sat. "I'm dying," he whispered. "I've done everything you have asked. Why are you doing this to me?" _

_"It is the privilege allowed to the powerful." _

_His lips parted but no words emerged. _

_The Sultana pulled his dagger from the water. "You dare arm yourself in my presence?"_

_Erik shook his head. "Please, I beg of you—"_

_"Begging is for the weak-minded and impotent. Even if there was an anti-venom available I would not give it to a writhing worm such as yourself."_

_"What?" Erik asked, his mouth agape in horror as she leaned into him._

_"There is no serum," she said into his ear as she drew circles along his back._

_Erik grabbed her by the hips and pushed her away. With his hand against the back of his neck he stumbled from the water. _

_"You've—"_

_"Deceived you," she said with a sly grin. "Just as you have deceived me."_

_"I've never done anything against you or the Sultan. You told me you poisoned me. Why would you do this?" Erik turned away from her and buttoned his pants again. Sharp, throbbing pain surged through the back of his neck where she had prodded the wound. _

_"Why are you so upset? I offered you what any man in this kingdom would give his life to have for one night. Yet you refuse my body. I thought the French were lovers but you are a naïve little toad, a worthless little rat unworthy of my time. You could have had the world for a night."_

_Erik took one of the towels on the edge of the bath and rubbed away each bloody fingerprint along his arms and chest. He couldn't bear to look at her, to meet her eye ever again. He never wanted to see her face again. _

_"I don't want it. I don't want anything from you."_

_"You dare insult me?" she asked as she sauntered from the bathwater. She put the blade between her teeth and turned from him, bending to retrieve her own towel._

_"I wouldn't dare do anything," Erik muttered. He left his shirt behind and stormed toward the nearest door, pressing the towel against the back of his neck._

_His dagger sailed past his head, hissing through the air like a steel bee. It hit a marble column and clanked to the floor._

_"Your services here are finished, Frenchman," the Sultana seethed._

_Erik stumbled blindly from the room, his vision failing as he recounted all that had happened. _

_Halfway down the hall he saw the daroga patrolling the eastern corridors. He flagged him down, shoes squishing, pants sticking to his legs._

_"God in Heaven, what has happened to you?" the daroga asked. "You're half-naked and soaked to the bone."_

_"I know," Erik breathed. He turned a moment and glanced back to see if she had followed him. The towel slid down his shoulder and landed on the floor. _

_The daroga pressed his hand into Erik's arm and gained his attention. "You are covered in blood, my son, and your face is white as death. What happened to your neck?"_

_He shook his head, unable to catch his breath. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face again._

_"Were you attacked?"_

_Erik glanced down at the bloodied towel and clamped his hand over the throbbing wound. His skin was tender, the laceration bruised from the force he had used to remove poison that was not there._

_"Mr. Levesque?" the daroga questioned. _

_With a deep breath, Erik took the police commissioner by the shoulders. "Please, you must help me. I must get out of here tonight."_

_The daroga merely nodded. "Come with me. I have a friend from India. He might be able to help you."_


	25. The Cafe

Ch 25

Ravi Patel closed the shed door and turned to his Aunt Sunila. He had searched every inch of Patel property since Anisha had gone missing. No one knew where she was or where she may have gone.

"She's not here," he said with a shake of his head.

Aunt Sunila, a tall, thin-faced woman nodded and wrung her hands. "She must have gone to Persia, she must have…"

"We both know that isn't true," Ravi mumbled. His eyes swept across the plantation where workers were lumbering off for lunch and escape from the midday sun. "I'll send a telegram before I take the ferry to Chandernagore."

"Ravi, she's not—"

"She is. All night long they watched one another. I should have watched more closely than I did."

Aunt Sunila nodded. "Her father will not be pleased. He had an agreement—"

"I know. She will still marry Girish, Aunt Sunila. I swear to you I will find her and bring her home."

"What are you going to do?"

"Find Anisha," Ravi replied. "And tell Uncle Padir he needs to find a new architect."

His aunt crossed her arms and looked away. "I've always worried about Anisha. What if…what if she gave in to desires?"

Ravi's eyes hardened. "There will be a heavy price to pay. I warned Mr. Levesque several times. To disregard a rule set forth by the house was not a wise decision on his part. He will discover that his employer is not pleased with his most recent work."

O-

Erik lingered outside Corinna and Ursula's door for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. He exhaled and closed his eyes. His lurid thoughts about Corinna brought back the memory of the last night he had seen the Sultana.

The recollection made him shudder.

Corinna was not like the Sultana, he told himself. She was kind and gentle, everything he had lost in himself.

She was Mr. Desai's daughter.

She was not his to touch.

With a deep breath, Erik returned to his own room and found his suitcase and leather tubes of drawings shoved into the corner. One tube bearing his initials was crushed between the wall and his toppled suitcase. The sight made him grimace. Two months of sitting hunched over a desk was contained in just three tubes.

Erik groaned and stomped toward the jumble, finding his clothes also scattered on the floor. The lock was broken and one of the corners had cracked. If the plans hadn't been destroyed before they most certainly were ruined now. Erik tossed his suitcase aside and opened the end of the crushed tube, carefully sliding the blueprints out. He took a paperweight from the desk and glanced around for other objects to hold down the corners.

There was nothing small and heavy enough to hold down the corners. Considering his shoes and pocket watch, Erik smirked. Nothing would demonstrate his European class than using shoes for paperweights.

Using his bed as a tabletop, Erik rolled out the plans, silently swearing to himself that he would never travel outside of France again. Decent work was available in Paris. Perhaps he could make amends with Joseph's father and seek recommendation into Ecole, or give up design and become an apprentice for a builder. Even if he had to start by digging up stone or cutting down trees he would do it. He would do whatever it took to make a name for himself. The prestige associated with architecture didn't concern him.

From days spent beneath the sweltering sun, Erik knew he would not be content merely working in carpentry. He enjoyed the company of the workers, but the money wasn't as impressive and there was more labor involved.

Erik thought about what Monsieur DeChantel would say: he was searching for an easy occupation. Perhaps working in an architect's office would prove to be a happy medium.

Once the plans were spread out Erik saw that the damage to them was minor The corners were crushed, but nothing paper tape couldn't repair. A few books placed atop the rolled out plans would smooth the wrinkles.

Erik stepped back and crossed his arms. He was pleased with his plans for what would be Anisha and Girish's home. The three-story Italian-Renaissance palazzo, with its marble façade and perfectly erected atrium ideal for gatherings, would be the talk of Dareesh for years to come. It would be a far cry from the mish-mash bungalow and the wood-sided servant's quarters scattered around the plantation. The palazzo was architectural perfection, which Mr. Patel had foolishly attempted with his one-hundred-year old bungalow and countless additions.

Erik was excited by his plans for the new building. He audaciously praised himself for bringing the order of Europe's Golden Age to India. Of course Calcutta had its share of  
Italianate buildings, but his own design was admittedly bold for a private home. Erik was sure Mr. Patel and Mr. Baleeze would be quite pleased with his designs. What better way for such men of wealth to leave their mark on the world than with a palace?

Erik's only regret was that he would not remain to see his designs come into fruition. He had no desire to stay in India longer than need be. If Mr. Patel approved his leave, Erik planned on catching a ship out of India and heading back to France before the interior designs were finalized. Any alterations could be managed through the courier   
post.

A soft knock on the door drew his eyes from his plans. Erik realized he had not locked the door as soon as it creaked open

"Ten minutes must be longer on a French watch," Anisha said from the doorway.

Her presence startled him but Erik forced a smile.

"My belongings were just brought up. I thought I had lost my designs." He gestured toward the sheet of paper that was nearly as wide as the double bed. "I'll roll it up and bring it down to the café."

"Why move it? You already have it displayed." She sauntered into his room and craned her neck.

Erik shrugged. He scratched the back of his neck, running his fingernails over the small scar left from his evening with the Sultana.

"I was hoping for a bit of air and something to drink. Corinna mentioned lassi was good, though I'm in the mood for French wine."

Anisha watched him for a moment. She crossed her arms and tapped her fingers on her elbow. "I'll be downstairs."

"Would you mind if Corinna and Ursula joined us?" Erik asked before she turned.

Anisha's mouth hardened but she shook her head. "Not at all."

O-

As the sun set hordes of people ventured out into the cool evening air. From where Corinna, Ursula and Anisha sat in the courtyard they could watch Erik and the Hughli River behind him. The ferries traveling up and down the river twinkled with lantern lights illuminating their path along the river.

"Alright, hold it out," Erik said. He drummed his fists on the table and nodded toward Corinna, who was holding a marigold in her hand.

"Like this?" she asked. She held the flower several inches off the table.

"Perfect." He glanced at the three young women and adjusted his chair. "It will sing to you."

Several couples sitting behind the three ladies had stopped eating to see what sort of tricks the European was performing for his crowd of tittering onlookers. Like the perfect showman, he moved his chair at an angle so the rest of the tables could see his magic tricks. He grinned and spoke louder so everyone could appreciate what he was doing.

Corinna leaned into Ursula and explained to her what was about to happen. Ursula shook her head and swatted her hand at the table.

"What?" Erik asked.

"She said you're teasing us."

"She called you a filthy pig," Anisha added as she leaned back in her chair.

Erik raised a brow. "A pig? Hand her the flower."

Corinna passed the flower to Ursula. For a moment the two argued over who was supposed to hold it. Anisha groaned and threw her head back. She said something in Hindi, to which Ursula snapped back. Corinna put both of her hands out to silence the two of them.

"What's going on?" Erik asked.

"She doesn't want to hold it," Corinna sighed.

Anisha yawned and looked away. "She thinks you're being foolish."

Corinna glared at her cousin. She turned back to Erik. "She thinks you're trying to trick her. I'll hold the flower."

Erik shrugged. He hadn't expected such a struggle between the three of them to do something so simple.

"Hold it close to your ear so you can hear it."

Corinna rolled her eyes.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Flowers don't talk."

"No," he grinned. "But they sing."

With a closed-lip smile, Corinna put the flower up to her ear and bit her lip.

"Close your eyes."

"No!"

"We are in an open courtyard. What would happen to you?" Erik asked. He gave an aggravated sigh and turned his head to the side.

"Fine." Corinna closed her eyes and drew her shoulders up to her ears as though she expected he would do something to her.

0-

It started out in a faint whisper, a soft little chant that took Corinna by surprise.

**La donna è mobile Woman is as wayward  
qual piuma al vento, As a feather in the breeze  
muta d'accento she changes her tune  
e di pensiero.And her mind.  
Sempre un amabile A lovable,  
leggiadro viso, pretty face  
in pianto o in riso, is always deceitful  
è mensognero.Whether weeping or smiling**

Corinna opened her eyes and the song stopped. She saw Erik smirking, waiting for her to put the flower back to her ear.

"Don't crush me, signora!" the flower exclaimed when she pressed the petals against the side of her face.

"I apologize, sweet flower," she whispered. "What are you singing?"

"Verdi's_ Rigoletto_."

**La donna è mobileWoman is as wayward  
qual piuma al vento, as a flower in the breeze  
muta d'accentoshe changes her tune e di pensier. And her mind  
E di pensier, e di pensier! And her mind, and her mind!**

Corinna passed the flower to Anisha. "Here, listen."

"It's not really singing," Anisha snapped in Hindi. "You realize that, don't you?"

"There's a voice inside of it," Corinna replied.

Anisha scoffed. "No, there isn't. You're a foolish child."

"Fine, don't listen. Perhaps it will only sing to me."

Anisha rolled her eyes. "Your father spoils you."

"You're just jealous," Corinna muttered. She turned toward Ursula.

Anisha laughed and sat back from her cousin. "Jealous? Of what? A mixed breed whelp?"

"Both of you cease this foolishness. He is only a man," Ursula replied. "And not a very good one. Look at him, the pig singing for a crowd of girls with stars in their eyes."

"Could you hear it?" Erik asked. He sat across the table holding his glass of wine several inches from his lips. "Do you know _Rigoletto?_"

"He shouldn't waste his time on you," Anisha said under her breath.

Corinna ignored Anisha and spoke in French again. "Will the flower sing more?"

"If you ask nicely," Erik smiled.

"It can hear me?"

"This is ridiculous," Anisha groaned.

"Go to your room if you don't like it," Corinna hissed.

"Do you want to listen too?" Erik asked Anisha.

"No, entertain the little ones," Anisha replied.

Erik stared at her for a moment before he turned his eyes back to Corinna and nodded. "Ready?"

"Don't look," Corinna said. "I want to ask the flower a question."

"A question? About what?"

"That's only for the flower to know."

Corinna turned to her side and cupped her hand around the flower so that Erik couldn't hear her voice. "Little flower, you have a beautiful voice. Would you sing to me forever?" She kissed the petals and turned back to Erik. "I'm ready."

**E'sempre misero Anyone who trusts her  
chi a lei s'affida, is always wretched  
chi le confida, he who confides in her,  
mal cauto il core! His heart is broken  
Pur mai non sentesi But no one can ever be  
felice appieno Completely happy  
chi su quel seno, if he does not sip love  
non liba amore! On that breast.**

**La donna è mobile Woman is as wayward  
qual piuma al vento, as a feather in the breeze  
muta d'accento she changes her tune  
e di pensier. And her mind,  
E di pensier, e di pensier! And her mind, and her mind!**

Corinna pulled the flower back and opened her eyes, turning first to Ursula to tell her what she had heard and then Anisha who was staring at the people passing by. When she turned back to Erik he was attempting not to laugh.

"How did you do that?" Corinna asked.

"A magician never reveals his tricks," Erik replied. He leaned forward and took the flower from her. "If I told you I would have to kill you."

"He entertains you because he feels sorry for you," Anisha said under her breath.

"He ignores you," Corinna pointed out. "You're upset because you aren't the center of attention."

Anisha looked at her sharply before turning away. "If I wanted him all I would have to do is look him in the eye. He would forget you were sitting here."

"Have you forgotten Girish?" Corinna snapped.

"What are you three talking about?" Erik asked. "You worry me when I hear you speaking in a tongue I can't understand."

Anisha turned her attention to Erik and sat forward in her chair. She sipped a glass of water and stared him in the eye. "We were discussing your days in Persia."


	26. The Daroga

Ch 26 

_The daroga led Erik into his quaint apartments and sat him down at his desk. _

_"I'll find a shirt for you," the daroga promised. "Would you like to change out of your wet clothes?"_

_"I need to leave tonight," Erik stammered. His teeth chattered as he spoke._

_"Rest first. You're looking quite sallow," the commissioner remarked. He walked through a doorway and doubled back. "Tea, my son?"_

_"No…yes. English tea, please, sir."_

_"English?"_

_"With milk." _

_The daroga nodded. He knew the architect wanted something to calm his stomach. "Call me Ari. Keep the towel over the wound, my son. I'll be back in a moment with a needle and thread." _

_Ari exited the room, rubbing his hand over his face. He knew whose apartment the young Parisian had come from. There were many nights when he patrolled the palace grounds and saw men padding from the Little Sultana's rooms. _

_Erik was the last person he would have expected to see coming out of her apartments. Ari had known the Little Sultana favored the architect. He saw it in her eyes when the young man walked into the dining hall. While her husband and the rest of the wives chatted throughout dinner, the favored wife settled her gaze on Erik. She watched him while he ate and spoke to the other dinner guests. _

_Once he started tea water and gathered supplies, Ari ventured back into the room where Erik was sitting with his elbows on the desktop. The architect looked even paler than he had when Ari left to retrieve clean towels. _

_"Are you feeling pain in your stomach?" he asked as he set an empty bowl on the desk. _

_"A little," Erik whispered. _

_"What did you eat tonight?" Ari questioned. If he dined with the Sultana there was nothing to be done. The poison would stop his heart within hours. "Perhaps supper did not agree with you._

_"I didn't eat supper," the young man responded. His head lowered until his forehead touched the desk._

_"How bad does your stomach hurt?"_

_"I won't be sick in your apartment if that's your concern."_

_"Your well-being is my concern, my son," Ari replied. There is a change of clothes in my bedchamber. Leave your wet clothes on the floor and my wife will see to them. If you aren't too chilled leave your shirt off so that it will be easier to see your wound."_

_Erik thanked him and wobbled to his feet. The bedroom door closed and Ari shook his head. It was a shame the Sultana had taken interest in such a boy._

_Ari pulled up a wooden chair and sat. The Sultana usually preferred men a few years older. She usually took interest in men of age and experience who could please her and eventually be easily discarded. In Erik Levesque she had found something different to pique her interest. He was a genius, but he was quite reserved. It was his unassuming nature she sought. From the first day he had come to the palace, Ari had known by looking at Erik that he was a boy with bigger dreams than common sense._

_All he wanted was to build a palace, Ari thought morosely. He never expected to become the Sultana's lover. By the looks of it, he hadn't quite fulfilled his duty to the Favored One. _

_The last time she had taken a younger lover something similar had happened. Ari remembered it well. The morning he had discovered the contorted face and twisted body still woke him at night. It had been five years, yet still Ari mourned the loss._

_After Erik returned and sat again, Ari pulled his chair closer. "May I see the wound?"_

_The architect hesitated. He looked the daroga in the eye and slowly nodded. Without a word he pulled the bloodied towel from his neck and bowed his head._

_Ari stood over Erik and pushed the young man's dark hair back to expose his neck. Dried blood had pasted stray hairs to the nape of his neck. _

_"As the head of the police I am required to ask what happened."_

_Erik was silent for a moment. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "It was an accident."_

_Ari poured water into a basin. He pulled the stopper from a small carved wooden jar and poured its contents into the water. Once he wet and wrung out the washcloth he had brought to clean the wound, he spoke again._

_"What sort of accident?" he questioned, keeping his tone light._

_"I cut myself."_

_"How?"_

_"Foolishness," Erik answered quickly._

_Ari grunted and pressed the damp rag against Erik's wound, causing him to flinch. "You're quite bruised. Were you prodding the injury?"_

_"Attempting to stop the blood."_

_"I see." _

_On closer inspection Ari sighed. "You stabbed yourself?"_

_"As I said, it was an accident."_

_"There is no need to be defensive, my son. It is my job to ask questions."_

_He saw the young man's shoulders drop. Erik nodded. "I apologize."_

_"What were you doing?"_

_"I don't recall."_

_"Accidents do happen, though I suspect most people remember them," Ari commented, noticing the young man's shoulders had tensed. "Do you really think I am so ignorant? My son, I saw you leaving the Sultana's apartments. Being a man of average intelligence I can make assumptions as to what happened."_

_Erik said nothing. His head lowered in humiliation._

_"You are half-dressed and soaked to the bone. Would you like me to draw my own conclusion? Or would you rather explain what happened?"_

_Though his lip began to tremble, Erik spoke with as much dignity as he could muster. "I swear to you that I did nothing to dishonor the Sultana. I thought she had poisoned me, the serum was supposed to be at the bottom of the bath but I was deceived." His speech turned to a soft ramble as he spoke. "I didn't want to die. I don't want to die now, or tomorrow, or when she decides. I need to leave here tonight. Please, sir, please help me leave this place. I want to return to France."_

_The daroga waited until he was certain Erik was finished speaking. "Hold very still. You won't be able to feel much in a moment. The herbs will numb your flesh before I sew it up."_

_"Thank you," Erik sighed._

_"I'll bring your tea once the wound is sealed."_

_"May I have it now?" the architect pleaded. _

_Ari nodded. "The water should be heated soon. English style, you said? Is goat's milk acceptable?"_

_"Yes, thank you."_

_"Make yourself comfortable. My wife made sweet bread earlier. I will bring you some, with honey if you wish. It may help settle your stomach."_

_Erik nodded "I don't want to trouble you."_

_"No trouble, my son, none at all."_

_"Please, daroga--Ari, if it is possible I need to leave here tonight."_

_"To France?"_

_Erik hesitated. His eyes searched the room for a moment before he nodded at last. "Yes, I want to return home. I want to see France."_

_"If it is possible I will help you leave tonight. It would be wise for you to leave a note for the Sultan. He will not be pleased to have you leave before the completion of his palace, but if you must leave…He will understand, especially if a family member has fallen ill."_

_Ari glanced back once and saw Erik nod. He wasn't certain, but he thought he heard a single sob leave the young man. It was disheartening. However, Ari couldn't help but think that Erik was fortunate to leave the Sultana with his life. _

_He only wished his own brother had been so fortunate when he met the Little Sultana five years ago._


	27. Lilian

Ch 26

The marigold dropped from Erik's fingers.

"My what?"

An easy smile graced Anisha's face. "Your time in Persia," she said as she pushed her chair back and rose smoothly. "I've had enough illusions for one night. Would you care to walk me to my room?"

"Who said I was in Persia?"

Anisha shrugged and glanced at Corinna, who had turned to speak with Ursula.

"Corinna, will you and Ursula be alright here?"

"Are you coming back?" Corinna asked.

"In a moment. Most likely before our supper comes."

Corinna glanced at Anisha, who returned a glared. "We will stay here. If our food arrives and we are gone they're likely to throw it out to the dogs and charge us for it still."

"Fine. Don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a moment.

As Erik stood he saw a familiar face enter the courtyard through a wooden gate at the far end. Joseph leaned against the short stone fence and held the door for Lilian and the two other European women. Lilian saw Erik first and waved.

"Looking forward to tomorrow?" she asked.

"La Boheme?" Erik questioned. He kissed her on both cheeks and looked past her at the gate where she had entered. Joseph had stopped to chat with a man Erik didn't recognize.

Lilian shook her head. "Our guide told us it was La Boheme but he had the wrong opera. It's still a Verdi, but it's Rigoletto. I do hope you'll still join us. I don't care what the critics say. Verdi is a genius."

Erik glanced at Joseph, who had started toward the table, while Lilian spoke. Joseph didn't notice that his wife was speaking to Erik. His eyes were on Anisha.

"That would be fine. I was just going to escort Anisha to her room—"

"Mr. DeChantel offered," Anisha replied before Erik could finish. "He forgot his pocket watch."

"Oh, darling," Lilian frowned. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No, no, dear. I will only be a moment."

Lilian laughed. "Well, go on then lest you want me to run away with Monsieur Levesque."

Erik looked away for a moment as the two jested. Lilian had no idea what a lecherous creature she had married. Joseph disgusted him.

Joseph managed to pull his lips up into a smile. "Wouldn't want that, dear."

Anisha accepted Joseph's arm as she looked over her shoulder at Corinna. She smiled sweetly and went on her way with Lilian's husband.

Lilian glanced at the vacated seat. "Would you mind if I sat for a moment? I've been meaning to tell you about my cousin. She's in the ballet in Paris. I forget what company she works for these days. It seems there's always something new back home."

Erik helped Lilian into her chair and sat down across from Corinna.

"So I've heard," Erik lied. He hadn't heard anything from home in three years.

"She just married a few months ago, so I imagine she might take a year's leave for family. But I suspect she'll try to sneak back on that stage as soon as the midwife leaves the home. She loves dancing but she wants a large family," Lilian continued. She smiled and played with her jewelry. "I'll write her a letter and tell her I met a musician."

"How did you know I was a musician?"

"Joseph's father told me all about you. He played part of something you wrote ages ago on his violin. Don Juan, I believe."

Erik felt himself blush. "A childish endeavor. One that will never be completed—not until the day I die."

"Now that you're an architect perhaps you wouldn't be so interested in writing operas or playing the violin, but Brigitte could help you find employment."

"Brigitte is your cousin?"

"Yes, Brigitte de Pierre—oh, my apologies. Her married name is Giry. Brigitte Giry."

Erik found himself half-listening to Lilian. He was still concerned about what Anisha had said. No one was supposed to know he had been in Persia. Mr. Desai had sworn to keep Erik's secret for fear of him being returned to the shah-of-shahs.

"I'll have to remember her name," Erik replied.

"You would like her. I'll be certain to send her a letter before we leave for Africa. I'll give her your name and a forwarding address if you have one."

"I would appreciate that, Madame DeChantel."

"Call me Lily. With everything Joseph's father said about you I feel like I've known you for years. He has always been fond of you. Why, he even said he would take you in as a son since your father worked for his."

Erik nodded. His gut felt twisted, his insides tight with warning. He had a feeling that Joseph's father had known he was in Persia. If Joseph knew, he may have told Anisha during their affair. Erik started to scoot his chair back from the table.

"Did your father live long enough to hear of your accomplishments?"

Her words froze him in his seat. "Excuse me?"

Lilian nervously looked away. "Joseph told me about your father's sinful passing. I'm sorry to bring it up. I was only wondering if he knew about you building the palace for Sultan Resbaar. It's quite an accomplishment. Mr. DeChantel called you a whelp that used ten percent of his talent and ninety percent of his luck. He simply adored you. I'm sure your father felt the same way, even if he did watch you build from…heaven."

Lilian fanned herself after she finished speaking. She searched the café courtyard until she found the two women she had come in with sitting beside their husbands.

"I should return to our friends. I apologize for disturbing your dinner. I'll send the letter to my cousin in the morning." She turned toward Corinna and Ursula and exchanged brief words with the two of them. She waited for Corinna to translate her words before she told Erik good-night and walked to her table.

Erik stared at the table and the crushed flower touching the knuckles of his left hand. His father was dead. By the sound of it he had committed suicide. While the wind blew the flower off the table Erik sat in quiet devastation. He wasn't sure if he mourned the death or not.

Designing a palace would not have pleased his father. Erik knew without a doubt that his father would have called it dumb luck. Everything he did, in his father's eyes, was beginner's luck or undeserved fortune. They had not been on good terms since Erik began spending more time with the DeChantels.

Erik wondered if his mother was still alive. He knew it didn't matter. She would never forgive him for staying away from home following his father's death. If he went to her, he expected she would turn him away.

When Erik looked up from the table, he found Corinna staring at him. She attempted a smile but failed and looked away.

Their food was brought to the table before Erik could say anything. He was glad for the distraction as he had nothing to tell Corinna. He didn't feel like speaking. He didn't feel like doing anything at all.

Gooseflesh rose along his arms as he thought about his father. Even though they hadn't been close when Erik left, he still felt a rising ache of loneliness. He hadn't seen his father in three years. There would never be an opportunity to see him again.

"Eck," Ursula snapped suddenly.

The sound of his name drew his eyes from his cold dinner plate. He hadn't touched his leg of lamb in wine sauce or the consommé the waiter had brought and taken back to the kitchen.

"You eat?" Ursula asked.

He nodded slowly and reached for his fork but stopped himself. He had to know what happened. Though he knew in his heart what the answer would be, Erik still had to hear the words aloud.

He wanted to know when he had killed his father.


	28. Obedience

The last time we saw The Goddess she told Erik that through destruction there is renewal. He replied, "Not always."

Noir 28

The Goddess pulled away from Erik, leaving him gasping for his next breath. She looked him over with narrowed eyes. His stomach growled again. It was the third time since he had found her that his hunger voiced itself. Bracing herself on his shoulders, she rose to her feet and sauntered to her vanity where a woven bag lay against the scrolled leg.

"Three days without food," she said with her back to him. "Why?"

Erik made no reply. He stared at his outstretched legs. He had eaten seldom since becoming infatuated with Christine. In the past it had been because he fixated himself on music and his singing prodigy. In the last three days he deprived himself as punishment.

"When I ask a question I expect answers."

"I don't know why," he replied quietly. His voice dropped into a hushed whisper. "I told you. I should be dead."

Until he had seen The Goddess again living had not interested him. He did not exist in the world. He was only a myth, a terrifying story based in as much fact as witches and warlocks. There was nothing for him. Everything he had ever desired had disappeared. Wandering alone had provided far too much time to think of all he had done, of all he had lost. The longer he thought the more miserable he became.

The Goddess brought the bag with her and sat on the bed. Erik watched her from the corner of his eye as she folded her legs beneath her and stared at him. At first she said nothing, which increased the feeling of mortification he felt in himself. For fifteen years he had been nothing, which he preferred to the feeling of being a disgrace in the eyes of his Goddess.

"You're right. You should be dead."

He had no choice but to nod.

The Goddess opened the bag and rummaged through the contents. She pulled out an object wrapped in a handkerchief and held it out to him.

"Take it," she said. "There's more in the bag."

Erik's dirty fingers quickly unwrapped a baguette. He glanced up at The Goddess and saw her nod. "Wine or water?" she asked.

"Water. Please," he said. He looked back to the bread. "Thank you."

The Goddess reached into the bag again and produced a glass flask which she passed to him without a word. He took it from her with a whispered 'thank you' and moved further into the corner, drawing his knees up to his chest. Hunger hit him with nauseating frenzy the moment he held the bread to his mouth.

"Careful," The Goddess said as she lay back on her bed and watched him from the corner of her eye. "Your teeth are loose. Eat with care."

His gaze switched from the food in his hand to the dark beauty reclining. He pushed his tongue against his teeth and felt them creak forward. She was correct.

"Malnourishment," she said before he asked. "Your complexion is sallow, your hair is falling out, and your teeth are loose. Soak the bread in water before you eat. It will soften it and save your teeth. And eat slowly or you will make yourself ill."

Though he wanted to devour the bread in one bite, Erik did as he was told and ate in silence, measuring each bite. Once he finished he turned his eyes toward the wall. "You are too kind," he said under his breath.

He glanced over his shoulder when The Goddess did not reply. He saw her staring at the ceiling, hands folded over her stomach. Her knees were at an angle and her skirt fell to the middle of her calves.

"There is no such thing as 'too kind', my phantom. There is kindness and cruelty but never too much compassion." She rolled onto her side and looked him in the eye. "There is a price for my kindness."

Erik broke eye contact first and stared at the floor and the drained bottle. "I will bring you more money by twilight. However much you want—"

"Money means little to me when there is so much more to take," The Goddess purred. She slid her legs from the bed and lowered to her knees beside him.

Before she finished speaking he looked away. Gooseflesh prickled his arms and the back of his neck. "I cannot give you anything."

The Goddess crawled up his leg. "Why don't you allow me to judge what you can and cannot give me?"

"Don't ask me to do this," he pleaded.

"I am a deity and you are nothing but a ghost. For years you made your own requests, but know this, Phantom: I do not ask. I demand."

She stroked the side of his neck with her fingers, causing him to shiver at her taunting caress. The Goddess leaned forward and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

"And I am never denied."


	29. Wasteful Europeans

We're back to 1855 India. Below is a very violent and intense sequence. I tried to keep it from being extremely graphic, though from what my beta said it is somewhat disturbing. If you don't want to read to the end please stop at the break. There will be a warning when the content turns more intense.

Also, I was going to say that someone mentioned I had Mme Giry and the daroga's names wrong. Out of habit I always give Madame Giry a new name even though I know Gaston LeRoux gave her the name Antoinette. I also know that the daroga's name was Nadir but I always assumed that sounded more like a last name than a first name. I apologize for giving them different names, and for giving Erik a last name, which also doesn't fit the original story. I hope you still enjoy the story.

Noir 29

Erik wandered aimlessly away from the café, oblivious to the crowd and to the noise of street musicians. The only thing he could think about was something that seemed impossible.

His father was not only dead but had killed himself.

Erik's mind reeled. It felt like he had been removed from his body, his soul torn from his insides and shredded by Lilian's words.

He had seen the horror register on her face once she realized he hadn't known. For as much as he could tell from their brief conversations, Lilian seemed like a decent woman, one who was interested in helping others. Missionary work had brought her to India. She wanted to be of service to others, to better the lives of people she didn't know. Erik was certain that Lilian would not have said it to hurt him intentionally. But that made no difference. The damage had been done.

Erik stumbled up the stairs to the Inn, barely aware of where he was or what he was doing. He walked down the hall to the right of the stairs and stood before Anisha's door. Eyes closed, he listened.

Just as he had expected, she was not alone. Erik heard Joseph's voice through the door.

He knew what he would find but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. The one man he had loved and respected above all others was gone.

0-

"Wasteful Europeans," Ursula said under her breath. She shook her head and scowled at Erik's dinner plate. The brief time she had spent at Corinna's side in London only fed her hatred of the English and the rest of Europe. While Indians starved, plates sat full and unwanted in French-run communities.

Corinna sat in silence, staring at the table. The outdoor café slowly emptied as the hour grew later and entertainment was found elsewhere. Music blended with the murmur of the crowd slowly flowing down the street and toward the river where the Kali Festival was taking place for a second night.

"They travel across India and see children who look like skeletons and what do they do? They waste their dinner."

"His father died," Corinna replied blankly.

Ursula's eyes widened. "He…when?"

Corinna shook her head. "I have no idea. I don't think Erik knew, either."

Ursula went back and forth between looking at the plate and at Corinna. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He just left."

"How do you know this?"

Corinna looked at her companion for the first time since Erik had left. "Mrs. DeChantel told him. I think his father committed suicide."

Ursula's lips parted. "My goodness." She pushed her chair back from the table. "Where did he go?"

Corinna shook her head.

Ursula sighed. "You know I greatly disapprove of the way you and Anisha treat one another. Family is more important than some man."

Corinna glared at Ursula before turning away. "You despise him without reason," she said under her breath.

"And you trust him only because you think he is handsome."

"I trust him because my father trusts him," Corinna snapped back.

Ursula took Corinna by the arm. "Child, you are infatuated with a foolish dream."

"No, it's not a foolish dream."

"Corinna, what do you know about Mr. Levesque?"

"Enough."

Ursula paused. There were days when she enjoyed accompanying Corinna and days when the girl was childish and infuriating. Since the day Corinna had first seen Mr. Levesque she had been enamored by the dark haired, light eyed European.

"You know what he tells you," Ursula replied at last.

"I know enough," Corinna said through her teeth.

Her temper getting the best of her, Ursula said something she knew would silence Corinna. "What did Anisha say about Persia?"

Corinna stuttered. "She—he—nothing."

Ursula rolled her eyes. "He appeared very uncomfortable when Anisha mentioned it. What do you suppose that was about?"

Corinna merely shrugged.

"Perhaps it would be best to search for him. With such news he may be quite distraught."

The two rose from the table and walked toward the wooden gate.

"I'll go to the Inn. You search by the river," Corinna said.

Before Ursula could protest, Corinna darted into the night.

0-

Joseph stroked the back of Anisha's neck with one hand as he kissed her bare shoulder. His teeth caught her flesh gently at first, harder as both hands explored her body.

"Do you bite your wife as well?" Anisha asked as she pushed his head away.

She watched his movements in the mirror. He was a selfish lover going through the same repetitive motions from the previous night.

"My wife won't barely let me touch her," Joseph panted. He found her ribs and dug his fingers into her flesh. His speech grew worse when he was aroused, his language before a lady worsening as he lost control.

"Why is that?" Anisha guided his hand higher, placing his thumb over the rosy peak of her titian flesh.

"I think she knows."

She raised a brow. "Oh?"

"Or she suspects. But she's a good girl," he pressed himself up against her back. "She won't never leave me. She don't believe in divorce."

Anisha grinned to herself. "Does it excite you to know she might be outside the door?"

Joseph grunted. He grabbed Anisha by the arm, startling her as he guided her quickly to the bed. He had not removed his trousers, but he had opened the button fly.

"It excites me that you're here and willing. My God, you're like a perfect little goddess. They should be celebrating you outside, not that statue."

"Does your wife deny you often?" Anisha asked. Joseph positioned himself over her. She felt his hand run along her inner thighs.

"Why so many questions?" he asked.

She smiled. "I like to know about the women who find themselves alone."

"She struggles sometimes," Joseph answered between kisses. "But I convince her."

Joseph roughly took Anisha's arm and placed it over her head then did the same with the other one. He held her by the wrists and bit her hard on the shoulder.

"Stop it. You're hurting me," Anisha protested. She squirmed beneath Joseph, twisting her legs and torso.

"Easy now, girl," he said. He caught her hair between his fingers. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then get off me."

"You invited me."

The struggle continued. Anisha thrashed about, legs separated by Joseph's thigh between her knees. He bit her again on the chest.

"I said get off me."

Joseph pulled her hair harder and drew her head back. "Lay still," he said between his teeth. "It'll hurt worse if you fight me."

"Let go of my hair, you stupid pig."

Joseph sat up on her hips and drew his arm back.

"Don't hit me," Anisha said quickly, snapping her eyes shut. "Don't do this."

"A woman don't invite a man to her room for games. I know how your people are in this country. No one will care because no one will never know. We can both enjoy ourselves, or you may fight me. Choose now."

Anisha pushed against his chest, attempting to remove the man nearly twice her weight pinning her to the bed.

"Suit yourself," Joseph said under his breath. He covered her mouth with his thick hand and positioned himself over her.

0-

A strangled scream left Anisha's mouth. Her struggle turned more violent once she felt Joseph enter her.

This wasn't what she wanted.

She had slept with him the previous night in hopes of making Erik jealous. It hadn't worked. He hadn't even offered to walk her back to her room after dinner.

"Stop it. Get off of me," Anisha screamed. She kicked, hitting him in the back of the legs, tossing her head wildly back and forth. Her arms were still pinned uselessly above her head.

Joseph tugged her hair harder, wrenching her neck to the side. He had been correct. The more she fought him the more it hurt. Inch by inch, her muscles ceased to function. Her legs numbed, her arms went limp until she turned into a lifeless, dull doll waiting for an end.

Anisha's voice abandoned her with each unwanted movement of Joseph's body. She searched herself for a single word, a lone protest but nothing revealed itself.

"That's right. Settle down and enjoy yourself."

Joseph bit her again on the breast, which released a scream of pain that melded into a howling sob of anguish. The sound Anisha made startled Joseph into pulling away from her. He grabbed the pillow out from beneath her head and forced it over her face.

"I said there is an easy way and a hard way, girl. So be it."

0-

The scream issued from Anisha's room made Erik shudder. He wrenched the doorknob and found it locked. Without a thought he stepped back and rammed his shoulder into the door.

The wooden barrier split but didn't open. Like a rabid beast, Erik drew back again, this time standing against the wall and using his leg to kick the door. On the second violent kick the door broke upon impact and slammed into the bedroom wall, punching a hole in the thin plaster.

Erik stormed into the room as Joseph rolled off the edge of the bed and disappeared onto the floor.

"My God," Erik said under his breath. He stood on his knees on the edge of the bed and tossed the pillow aside. Reaching over Anisha, he wrapped the coverlet over her nude frame.

She gasped as the fabric draped over her body and clutched the soft cotton that covered her. Without a word, she turned over on her side and drew her knees up to her chest.

"She agreed," Joseph said from the floor once Erik turned his attention away from Anisha. "She invited me into her room."

"To strip her down and smother her," he seethed.

"She started to struggle."

Erik ground his teeth. "And that means what? That she agreed?"

Joseph crawled toward the broken door on his knees. "She would have settled down in a moment."

With his eyes remaining on Joseph, Erik snatched the pillow again. He stalked Joseph and threw him to the ground by placing the sole of his shoe against his back and stepping on his spine. A kick to the side forced Joseph to his back where he lay with his hands over his sore ribs.

"The struggle would have ended when you killed her, you stupid son of a bitch."

"I know when to stop," Joseph blurted out.

His words furthered Erik's wrath. "Because you've done this before, is that it? To who? To Lilian?" Erik kicked him again in the thigh. "Let's see how long it takes you to settle down," Erik raged as he sat on Joseph's chest and placed the pillow over his face.


	30. Suffocation

_Important Authors notes: I am entered in the Romance Junkies writing challenge and would appreciate your votes. My entry isn't up yet, but it will be soon. This is just a heads up to beg for your votes. My mainstream romance story is called _The Countess of Suburbia._A sample of this story and what will be entered in the contest is on my website. I will add a link from there and also remind you when I am up for voting._

_If you like the start of my story please vote for me! More details to follow!_

_Story related author notes: Erik was prepared to suffocate Joseph after he broke down the door and found Anisha struggling to get away from Joseph._

Ch 30

Girish Baleeze rolled to his side and released a soft sigh.

"I've missed you," he said to the Sultana as he ran his thumb along her jaw line. "Four months without you is torture."

"Torture?" she asked, raising a brow. She slid her legs off the silk sheets and stood up, glancing over her shoulder at her lover. "Is that what you would call it?"

"Torture of the worst kind," Girish said with a smile. He rose on the other side of the bed and wrapped a towel around his waist, keeping his eyes on the Sultana's perfect body.

Her hips swayed from side to side as she walked across the room and retrieved her clothing. She took great pleasure in his unabashed interest. Though the Sultan still favored her above his other wives, their encounters were less frequent now that he had a palace that he found pleasing. His age and stamina only allowed him to take one wife to bed in a week, which meant that the Little Sultana was never satisfied.

"Don't dress yet," Girish said suddenly. "I fear my travels to Persia will be less frequent now that I am to wed soon."

"You are marrying one of Padir's daughters, correct?" the Sultana questioned. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Girish held the Sultana close to his chest and kissed her deeply. "Yes, the oldest. Her name is Anisha."

"Tell me, are you in love with her?"

Girish lifted the Sultana into his arms and walked her back to his bed. "The union is good for her father and for myself."

"So, the answer is no?" she replied as he placed her on the bed and pushed her hair back from her face.

"Do you love the men you take to your bed?" Girish countered.

The Sultana laughed. Her eyes closed slowly as Girish drew small circles with his fingers on her inner thighs. "For the night," she answered, her knees drifting apart.

"So you love me right now?" Girish teased. He caressed her neck below her ear as he kissed her trailed kisses down to her chest.

The Sultana smiled back. She pulled on his upper arms until he straddled her. "As much as you are in love with me."

Girish rocked her slowly, savoring the sensation of their bodies joined. Sleeping with the Sultana had made his first night in the new palace a memorable one, and taking her twice while her husband met with Mr. Patel was even more arousing.

"Do I remind you of her?" the Sultana sighed.

"Do I remind you of your husband?" Girish asked.

The Sultana never answered. She slid her hand beneath the pillow and caressed the scorpion dagger, feeling Girish move with greater urgency.

o-

Joseph struggled violently for his life, arms and legs thrashing, head wrenching from side to side. Each time a muffled scream escaped his mouth Erik pressed the pillow down with more force.

After what he had seen, Erik had every intention of suffocating Joseph. The man he had known since childhood was an immoral beast that didn't deserve the wife he had or the life he lived. He shouldn't have been in Anisha's room let alone her bed.

Erik knew the fight would dwindle to lethargic attempts at freedom the longer and harder Joseph struggled. Once Joseph's arms lowered to his side, he would merely continue to hold the pillow until the lecherous man's chest ceased to rise and fall.

"No, don't," Erik heard Anisha frantically say.

Hands grasped him around the neck and attempted to pull him away. Erik reached over his head and found his fingers tangled in long, black hair. Without intending to, he pulled Anisha to her knees by her hair. She fell hard, bare knees and the palms of her hands colliding with the floor.

"You'll regret it," Anisha shouted. Her hand snapped out and caught Erik by the wrist. "If you kill him you'll regret it."

"Never," he said through his teeth.

"You couldn't kill a tiger, what makes you think you can kill a man?"

Her words loosened the one-handed grasp he maintained on the pillow. Erik forced his eyes up. Nostrils flaring, he glared hard at Anisha. "Because I've done it before," he growled.

Erik tossed the pillow aside. He studied Joseph's blue face for a moment as his right hand balled into his fist. All he could think about was this man forcing his wife into bed. It sickened Erik like nothing else.

"You don't deserve to live," Erik spat before he hammered Joseph in the jaw.

Blinded by rage, Erik rose to his feet and started out of the room but Anisha caught him by the arm. She attempted to hold onto him and the coverlet wrapped around her body. The left side fell from her grasp and briefly exposed her, though Erik barely noticed. He still wanted to murder Joseph.

"What do you want?" Erik snapped as he pulled his hand away.

"Please, whatever you do…don't tell anyone what you saw."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

She started to turn away. "Just don't. My father would be furious."

"If you're hurt—"

"I'm not injured," she answered with her back to him. "I'll be fine."

Though he didn't understand, Erik gave a curt nod and turned his attention back to Joseph, who was coughing and attempting to sit up. Rage flared again.

"What happened to my father?" Erik demanded.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Joseph wheezed. "You stupid son of a bitch."

"How did he die?" Erik demanded.

Joseph gave a wild grin. "You mean you don't know?"

Erik raised his fist again. "Tell me or I will kill you."

"Hung himself," Joseph answered with haste. "In the church. Used one of the rafter beams. The preacher found him dangling above the church organ on Monday at dawn."

"When? When did he die?"

"Two years ago. Right after he lost the apartment."

"And my mother?"

"Remarried. A man who works for Garnier. Stagehand, I think."

"What's his name?"

Joseph shook his head. "Baret, I think. Boret? Jean or Joseph. I'm not certain."

"You don't know?"

"Why would I know? I haven't seen her in two years."

"When did she remarry?"

"A month after she buried her husband. Everyone knew she had seen him for months."

Erik's head began to pound. The room swirled around him, the muted colors fading into blackness. He had to leave before he passed out.

"Get out of her," Erik mumbled. He ran his hand through his hair and turned away. "Leave. Crawl back to France and die you miserable bastard."

0-

A knock at the door startled Girish awake. He rolled off the bed and glanced back. The Sultana lazily opened her eyes and smiled.

"Mr. Baleeze! Please! It is urgent!"

Girish pulled his trousers up and walked bare-chested to the door. He recognized the voice as one of his servants.

"What is it?" he asked when he opened the door.

"Anisha, Mr. Baleeze."

"What about her?" Girish yawned.

"She has been abducted."

Girish's eyes widened. "When? By whom?"

"Two days ago. A telegraph just arrived on the wire, sir. Mr. Ravi Patel sent word."

"Who took her? What does it say?" Girish demanded.

"They think it is the Frenchman, sir. Mr. Levesque is his name."

"Levesque?" the Sultana asked from the bed. "Erik Levesque?"

Girish turned. "You know the name?"

Her jade eyes narrowed. "He should be dead."

0-

Erik walked until the lights faded and the sounds of the crowd diminished. Even though he saw the oily blackness of the river growing nearer he couldn't feel his legs. He was numb. There was no feeling in his feet, his hands, or his heart.

He blamed himself for his father's death. His hands had been covered with so much blood over the past three years that he believed there was not enough water in the world to wash it away. He was stained from the inside.

Slowly Erik released the tight fists he had held and realized that his right hand throbbed. He could still move his fingers, which he hoped meant that his hand wasn't broken.

His eyes stared out across the Hughli River.

_I could end this, _he thought. _I could walk out into the water and let the river take me._

Tears pooled in his eyes. It was a cowardly thought, a sinful demise, one that would never find forgiveness. When he was found—if he was found—no one would take him to the church to be properly buried.

Erik wondered what had happened to his father's body. He had hung himself in a church. It was the most painful ending Erik could imagine. His father had killed himself within the church that would deny him forgiveness.

For one fleeting moment Erik attempted to hate his father. He wanted to despise the man he had once admired. He wanted to loathe the person who had abandoned him. The tumultuous years no longer mattered. The hateful words meant nothing.

The only thing Erik could think about was that he wanted to see him one last time. He had no opportunity to see his father's body. The death had taken place two years ago.

_What was I doing the moment he died? Designing a torture chamber? Standing in the Sultana's room?_

Nothing important, he knew. He shouldn't have left France. He shouldn't have been a selfish boy searching for intangible dreams. His father had asked him to take his place and work for the DeChantels and he had refused.

Remorse turned to anger. Erik wanted a better life and employment he found suitable. He didn't want to serve others. He wanted to make his own plans, his own fortune and that didn't happen by shoeing horses and driving carriages.

"I will never forgive you for this," Erik whispered to the cool night.

He sank to his knees and felt the water from the spongy ground soak through his pant legs. With tears streaking his face he lay down, curled up on his side, and sobbed for the man he wanted to see one last time.


	31. Searching

Ch 31

Corinna called out to Erik twice when she saw him walking away from the Inn. He ignored her and continued toward the river, stumbling along the dusty street and walking into startled couples. She wondered if he was heading toward the river ferries to return to Dareesh.

Her pace slowed. Wherever he went, Corinna didn't want him to go alone. The news of his father's death had left him devastated. The look in his eyes had sent her heart into her stomach.

She silently cursed the sari that prevented her from running after him. Lifting the end to the middle of her shins, she rounded a corner and started after him. Before she knew what had happened, a figure stood in her path. The impact of her colliding with the man nearly knocked the air from her lungs.

"Ravi?"

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Corinna attempted to maneuver around her cousin. She gazed over his shoulder. Erik had disappeared down a narrow alley. There was no time to waste conversing with Ravi.

"Corinna—"

"Who are you looking for?" she snapped. She shifted her weight and stared over his shoulder. Erik had disappeared. She was falling further behind.

"Anisha."

Corinna waved her arm toward the Inn. "She went back a while ago."

"She's here then?"

"Yes, she's here. Why would you ask if she was here and then sound surprised?"

Ravi grabbed Corinna by the shoulders before she could move away. "Don't you ever speak to me in that manner again. It is an honor for a half-breed to be associated with the Patels. Remember that until the day you die. Do you understand me?"

"Let me go."

He pressed his fingers into her upper arms to steady her. "Why are you alone? Where is Ursula?"

Her aggravation quickly escalated. "I'm going to her right now. Stop it, Ravi, you're hurting me."

"Why aren't the two of you together?"

"I needed to return to our room."

Ravi's eyes narrowed. "How long have the two of you been separated?"

Corinna shrugged. "Not long. We just had dinner with Anisha and Mr. Levesque. What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to stay in Dareesh."

"Aunt Sunila is looking for Anisha."

"Well, you know where she is. Now unhand me."

Ravi lifted her up from the ground and shook her. "Where is he?" he asked through his teeth. Corinna twisted and struggled until he put her on her feet again. "Is he with her?"

"Who? Erik?" she asked.

"Mr. Levesque, yes."

"He's by the river. He's most likely with Ursula by now. Have you gone absolutely mad?"

Ravi ignored her question. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Not long."

"How long," he asked through his teeth.

The look in her cousin's eyes alarmed Corinna. Ravi was supposed to help translate Tamal and Hindi for their guest. "A half-hour ago," she answered reluctantly, knowing that it had at least been twice that long. "You would know where he was if you had come with us."

"Watch your mouth, girl. When did you last see Anisha?"

"About forty-five minutes ago. One of Er—Mr. Levesque's friends went back to his room to retrieve a watch. He walked Anisha to her room while his wife stayed at the table with Ursula, Mr. Levesque and me."

Corinna started to walk away but Ravi grabbed her by the wrist. With a sigh she attempted to explain when Anisha and Erik had left in greater detail. Once she finished and he seemed satisfied, Ravi released her.

"When you find Mr. Levesque tell him to return to Dareesh."

"Is something wrong?" Corinna asked. "Have you heard from my father?"

Ravi didn't reply. He turned toward the Inn and walked away.

0-

Water gurgled unseen several feet from where Erik laid down in the tall grass. The steady breeze turned the hollow reeds along the riverbank into wooden wind chimes. For a while he had simply stared at the skeletal figures swaying back and forth with the darkness as an endless backdrop and crickets singing all around. Distant lights along the river danced among the reed's lithe frames.

The serenity of night finally calmed Erik enough where he could breathe again. He was still in mourning but the worst of it was slowly passing, receding like the river tide.

The celebration further down the river was coming to a close. The music had stopped, although Erik wasn't sure if the performers were taking a break or if the festivities had ended completely. The sound of laughter and conversation still carried across the water.

Erik knew he was separated from the world in a way that was profoundly painful. Like an ignorant child he hid, drawn from the rest of society by his resentment and despondency of everything surrounding him. He closed his eyes and listened.

As a small child he had despised solitude. His mother frequently punished him for his wrongdoings by forcing him into his room alone. Now he punished himself.

Footsteps issuing through the grass prompted Erik to open his eyes. His hands balled into fists as he expected to find Joseph and his friends searching for him.

"Eck."

At the sound of Ursula's voice he struggled to sit upright.

"You sleep here?"

"I'm not sleeping here," Erik mumbled. He sat and pinched his shoulder blades together, discovering he had lay in the grass much longer than he first thought. The middle of his back hurt as did his knees. He yawned as he scratched a mosquito bite on the back of his hand. Within moments he knew there were more covering his body.

"Eh?"

"I said I'm not sleeping here," he snapped. His voice rose in an attempt to have her understand a language that was foreign to her. It was futile, he knew. He had spent three years in a rock quarry yelling at men who had no idea what he wanted and who cared even less.

With a sigh of disgust with himself, Erik ran the palms of his hands over his calves. His pants were wet from the river water saturating the ground. He shivered as he realized something was running down the back of his neck.

"I hate this damn place," he said as he stood up and brushed off his pants.

"Dis place hate you too."

"I see that." Something else bit him low on the back. He turned away from Ursula and ran his hand up the back of his shirt. A wriggling bug had latched onto him. He cursed and scratched at the unseen insect until he finally had it in his grasp. With a flick of his fingers he discarded it into the tall grass.

"Inside?" Ursula asked.

He solemnly nodded. "Where is Corinna? The two of you shouldn't be separated."

"Dee Inn. She look for you."

He glanced at Ursula briefly before nodding.

"You lose father?" Ursula questioned.

He nodded again. There was no point in explaining anything to her. She didn't speak French well enough to understand most of what he said.

"You no know?"

He shook his head. "To them, I became a ghost," he muttered.

"Ghost?"

"Apparition, phantom…ghost. You know…" he waved his arms around and made an 'ooooo' sound for a second before realizing how ridiculous he looked. "Forget it."

"You ghost?"

Her confusion brought a smile to his face. "Never mind."

"Spirit?" Ursula asked.

Erik thought for a moment. "Not exactly." He sighed in frustration and tried to think of a way to explain. "I don't exist to them."

"Why not?"

His eyes narrowed. "You understand me, don't you?"

She smiled slyly. It was the first time he had seen Ursula without her usual stern face. When the outside corners of her eyes creased and her thin cheeks showed the dimples constantly hidden, Erik thought she was fairly pretty. Not exotically beautiful like Anisha or delicate like Corinna, but he could imagine men nudging one another when she passed.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he asked warily.

"You man. No one understand you."

Erik smirked. "I suppose not." He continued to scratch at the mosquito bite on the back of his hand until the skin was so raw that the bite wound broke open. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" she questioned.

"For walking out here."

"Corinna look too."

"You should have stayed inside. I was about to come back."

"You sleep by river. Very dangerous. Someone come kill you."

Erik didn't say anything. He had attempted to choke one man yesterday and today he had tried to suffocate another. He was the danger.

Ursula looked back at the road leading to the Inn. "I lose many babies," she said. "And man. Now dar no one."

Erik nodded despite Ursula standing with her back to him. He had forgotten that there was a reason for her gruff disposition.

Corinna had told him one night at dinner that Ursula had lost three babies in two years. One was a stillborn while the other two were born too soon to survive. Her husband died a month before Ursula's last pregnancy ended with a baby boy strangled by his own umbilical cord.

It was a shame that a woman of her young age had suffered so greatly. She was bitter for reasons Erik couldn't imagine experiencing at his age let alone his lifetime.

"I'm sorry to hear about your babies and your husband," Erik said solemnly.

"You live still," she said after a long silence. She glanced at him. The hardened scowl he had grown accustomed to was settling back on her face. "You leave des spirits to be spirits. You no turn ghost. Have life be lucky to keep it. No sit in dark and wait for kill. You understand?"

There had never been words spoken with better clarity than Ursula's broken combination of English and French.

"I do," he answered. "Completely."


	32. Outside the Inn

Ch 32

The shah-of-shahs sat back on his raised dais and stroked his scraggly gray beard. His small, dark eyes were narrowed on Girish Baleeze, who stood beside the daroga. With a sigh the Sultan turned to his favorite wife.

"India," he said simply.

She nodded but remained silent behind her black veil. Ari Nadir couldn't decide if it was a good or bad sign that the Little Sultana said nothing. When she was silent it was impossible to gauge her disposition.

The Sultan waved his hand toward the daroga. "What do you have to say of this, Mr. Nadir?"

The daroga's eyebrows raised at the unexpected questioning. "Your Excellency?"

"Erik Levesque escaped from my prisons, did he not?"

"Yes, I believe so," the daroga answered. "About two months ago if I'm not mistaken."

"And Mr. Nadir, was it known how he managed this feat?"

"No, Your Excellency, it was not known."

The Sultan sat back and tapped his fingers on the arms of the intricately carved wooden chair. His jaw twitched, which Ari knew meant the Sultan was deciding what course of action to pursue.

"Mr. Baleeze," the Sultan said suddenly.

"Yes, Honored One," the handsome young businessman said. He bowed deeply before the Sultan.

At his words the Sultana sat forward and studied the Indian gold trader with renewed interest in the meeting. Ari forced his eyes away. To him it was obvious that the Sultana had a lover's interest in Mr. Baleeze. He wondered how the Sultana had managed to continue affairs with her male servants and men associated with her husband now that the new palace was complete.

"Of what concern is your fiancée to me?"

The young man looked taken aback by the Sultan's question. He held his hands out, palms up, as he spoke. "My fiancée is only my concern, Great One. But if this man is wanted here as well, I will do everything within my power to bring him back for punishment."

"Do you know what his punishment is?" the Sultan questioned.

"No, I'm afraid I do not."

"Execution," the Sultan replied. He briefly turned to the Little Sultana and whispered something to which she nodded readily. The Sultan turned his attention back to Girish Baleeze. "How do you know of Erik Levesque again? He's building a home for you, correct?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. My fiancée's uncle hired him to devise plans."

Ari stood very still. If Erik was brought back to Persia there was a chance he could tell the Sultan that he was set free, not an escapee from the prisons. Revealing his means of escape might lessen the amount of torture Ari knew he himself would experience before the Sultan ultimately had him killed. Of course the Sultan would promise to leave Erik with his life for revealing the men who had helped him escape.

"He is a dangerous man, Mr. Baleeze. He knows much from his days of employment here. It is in your best interest if you return him to me."

Girish politely nodded. "With all due respect, High Sultan, this man has taken my promised wife. Surely you understand how humiliating this is for me to have her abducted while I was away on business."

The Sultan sat forward. "You wish to punish him yourself?"

"Yes, I do. He has taken what is rightfully mine."

"How do you intend to punish him?"

"That has yet to be decided, Good Sultan, though I assure you of one thing: I shall leave him alive. My bride's family will return him to you for execution. Does this suit you?"

The Sultana grasped her husband's arm and whispered to him. With another nod, the Sultan switched his gaze to the police commissioner briefly before his eyes settled on the trader.

"Mr. Baleeze, you shall not leave my kingdom alone."

-0-

The night air was so thick with humidity that Erik was drenched in sweat by the time he and Ursula arrived at the Inn. Through the bustle of the crowd he saw Corinna sitting on the steps, her head resting in her hands.

Erik looked at Ursula, who nodded and walked inside alone.

"May I join you?" Erik asked as he sat down beside her.

Corinna appeared startled by his presence. "Quiet as a cat," she mumbled. She rubbed her eyes and sat up straighter. "Have you seen Ravi?"

"No," Erik replied. His brow furrowed. "He's here?"

Corinna nodded and looked away, training her gaze on the dwindling crowds. The noise from the river had died down and the musicians had ceased to play. Erik reached into his pocket for his watch and saw that it was almost midnight.

"Was he looking for me?"

She nodded again. Her silence worried Erik. He had grown accustomed to her gregarious nature and constant smile.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"No."

Erik studied her closely. She was still watching people pass; her eyes were red and puffy. He wanted to ask her what was wrong but he didn't want her to ask him where he had been. He knew Corinna had overheard what Lilian had said and he didn't want to talk about his father's death.

"Where is Ursula?" she asked at last.

Erik furrowed his brow, surprised that she hadn't seen her companion walk up the stairs. "I believe she retired for the night."

Uncomfortable silence lingered again. Erik sat with his chin propped up in his hands. The only activity was across the street where a pair of lovers stood wrapped in each other's arms beneath a tree. He smiled to himself. At least some people were making the most of the evening.

"I've been neglecting my work since we arrived here. Your uncle will not be pleased with me." He paused and waited for Corinna to say something but she still didn't look him in the eye. She stared at the wooden planks at her feet.

"I was considering taking some tea in the lobby and looking over my designs. Would you care to join me?"

"Maybe for a little while," Corinna replied blankly.

Erik rose to his feet and Corinna did the same. The breeze pushed a long strand of black hair into her face, which she attempted to blow away. Erik reached up and pushed it back from her eyes where it had tangled in her long lashes. His index finger gently grazed her cheek and ear, which elicited a soft sigh from her.

With a closed-lip smile, Corinna closed her. Encouraged by her response, Erik allowed his hand to remain on the side of her face. He caressed her ear, tracing the soft outline until he reached her earlobe. She turned her face to the side and released a harsh breath when he touched the side of her neck.

Corinna mesmerized Erik. Her smile intrigued him and her skin felt like warm silk against his rough fingers. When he touched her chin he could feel her breath against his hand. It excited him in the most primal way he could imagine.

Men in the rock quarries had spoken crudely of what it was like to touch a woman between the legs or on the breasts but none had ever mentioned what feelings were evoked by the sweep of a finger over an ear or the tracing of a jaw line.

He wondered if she noticed the slight tremble of his hands. Numbers and design had interested him more than attracting girls when he lived in France. He spent hours hunched over his desk while making elaborate plans for civic buildings too eccentric to ever break ground. He rarely noticed the sun setting or the candles being lit as he calculated room sizes and altered floor plans. Building was his obsession. And it was something he was very good at. Communication was his weak point. Large gatherings made him nervous and he feared that what his mother often told him would be true, that no one wanted to be near him.

Once he traveled to Persia the opportunities of companionship with the fairer sex had been limited to watching young ladies dance for the Sultan. At first it had been an exotic delight to watch something that would never happen to him in Paris, but after a while he became aware of the snickering around him as men retired for the night with women on their arms while he walked to his apartments alone. They considered him a foolish whelp who shouldn't have left his homeland. He was talented but inexperienced. Most of the older stone masons considered him little more than a fly buzzing around their territory.

Standing with Corinna outside the Inn was the closest Erik had ever come to an intimate moment. In his heart he never considered the night the Sultana had lured him to her bath as anything more than a duty. Had she not deceived him he never would have gone to her.

Corinna, however, was real. This quiet moment was something he desperately needed. As he studied her face, her closed eyes and slightly parted lips, he knew this was the only thing he wanted.

Erik's hand found its way to her shoulder. He gently gripped the soft woven fabric and drew her nearer until her forehead rested against his chest. In silence he nuzzled the side of Corinna's head and felt her arms slowly encircle him. She breathed against his chest, hot, quick breaths that told him she wanted to be near him as well.

He closed his eyes and held her close to him, feeling her heartbeat through her back. He wanted to disappear in her long, black hair, drift away in her obsidian eyes, sink into her crimson lips. Everything about their embrace felt perfect. The night faded away and took his anger and grief along with it.

Exhaling slowly, Corinna lifted her head and opened her eyes. She smiled up at Erik but said nothing. He gave her no reason to speak. Taking her hand in his, he led her inside.


	33. Affection

Ch 33

"What did the message say?" Lilian asked as she watched Joseph fold the last of his shirts and place it into his suitcase.

"Pardon me, dear?" Joseph asked over his shoulder.

"The message from your mother, Joseph, what did it say?"

"It said my father is very sick. I cannot delay, my dear. I must hurry home to his bedside at once. Surely you understand?"

Lilian masked her disappointment with a gentle smile. Joseph had never abruptly left the country they were in. Sometimes she suspected that Joseph didn't trust her around men as he never allowed her far from sight.

"Of course I understand, darling. I will hate traveling to Africa alone, but if I must, I must."

Joseph shut and locked his suitcase. "I will meet you in Africa."

Lilian half-smiled when Joseph turned to face her. "Darling, you must be more careful. Your neck will bruise."

Joseph nodded. "I will, my dear. I simply missed a step. Nothing to fret over."

-0-

Erik knew what would transpire if he brought Corinna up to his room. He wanted nothing more than to shut and lock the bedroom door and give into his desire. He mentally pictured each motion of kissing her lips, touching her hair, undressing her and taking her to his bed. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, the languid movements of their bodies joined in passion.

Corinna's hand rested on his arm as they walked up the stairs, her fingers brushed over his shirt sleeve in quick, nervous movements. Erik glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw her enigmatic smile.

She was nervous but she would not protest entering his room if he asked her to join him. Perhaps it was her innocent beliefs that he would sit her down on the bed and merely show her his designs. Or perhaps it was her desire to lay with him.

Whenever he turned to face her his voice would escape. Instead they communicated with shy smiles and gentle caresses, little glances attempting to stay proper and dignified. Even if he had wanted to speak, Erik's throat felt so dry that words were impossible. She had drained him of speech and filled him with something he had never experienced before.

Once they reached the door, Corinna's hand slipped away from his arm and dropped to her side. Her eyes stared at the lock, at the only barrier keeping them apart.

Erik fumbled for his key and felt Corinna lean in closer to him. The heat of her body made his knees feel like liquid. He turned to ask her if she wanted to come inside but stopped when he saw the slight smile on her face.

She was apprehensive. Behind her smile her eyes betrayed a fear of the unknown. Whenever he looked at her, Erik forgot that she was five years younger than he. Her English accent and well-bred manners gave the illusion of a proper young woman. Erik had seen girls her age with years of experience pleasing men in Persia. It was not uncommon for men twice his own age to take girls her age or younger to bed for the night.

But Corinna was not a slave sent to please her master. She was an innocent, a naïve girl following a man she trusted and considered a friend—just as he trusted her and considered her his only friend.

He couldn't be presumptuous, not if he wanted more than an hour or two of her time.

"It will only take a moment for me to gather my drawings. Would you prefer to wai here?"

Disappointment flickered in her eyes followed by a soft smile of relief and a nod of understanding. "I should. If Ursula comes out she would be disappointed in me if she found me in a man's room at night."

Erik nodded. "Of course," he answered.

"But she really wouldn't have anything to worry about," Corinna added as he unlocked the door.

-o-

Corinna wondered if she had frustrated Erik by remaining in the hallway. He had nodded and smiled before he turned away from her and unlocked the door. She was not so young as to think he would invite her in for a cup of tea. According to her aunts, there was only one thing men such as Erik Levesque wanted in young ladies like Corinna. He would leave her broken-hearted and in a miserable situation that would disgrace her and her family.

"Do you think there is still hot water available for tea?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes, I believe so," she answered timidly.

Erik walked into the room and quickly lit the nearest lamp. He shook out the match, tossed it into a ceramic bowl and placed his hands on his hips while he glanced around. He had his back to her, which allowed her the best opportunity to admire him from a distance.

Her heart raced merely from looking at him. She wondered what he had done to make his hands so rough and his muscles beneath his shirt so defined. The sight from the previous day was still vivid in her mind when she had seen those scars. She had shyly turned away when she saw him speaking to Joseph, embarrassed to be caught ogling a shirtless, handsome young man.

Her father had only told her that he was an architect but it was obvious he was accustomed to strenuous labor. She knew by the definition of his arms and chest that he was a hard worker. He had done more than merely design. He had built as well, she assumed.

In the back of her mind Corinna wondered what had earned him those terrible whip marks. Perhaps he had not pleased his former employer.

Corinna blocked out her curiosity and searched for something to feed her newfound interests. Her mind wandered like a butterfly in the breeze, aimlessly finding the favored path. She could imagine him in the rock quarries beneath the midday sun, sipping water from a canteen before dousing his short, dark hair. Corinna pieced the scene together detail by detail, imagining the men working all around, chisels in hand as they whistled and sang to themselves. There he would stand, surveying the area with his hand shielding his eyes, shirt tossed aside and beads of sweat trailing from his chest to his bronzed stomach. She could see him unshaven, stroking the divot in his chin as he oversaw the building on a sheet of paper become a home erected before his eyes.

He would touch the earth with his hands, rubbing flecks of stone between his fingers, gathering dirt and dust beneath his fingernails and over his knuckles. Strong, steady hands wrapped around the chisel's wooden handle as he struck the earth.

Corinna released a soft sigh.

Hands, she thought, and her knees weakened. How deftly his long fingers and broad palms had moved over her shoulder and across her neck. She felt a shiver of excitement and a secret fire rise within at the thought of his gentle caress. His touch had been so warm, so comforting. There was nothing of him to fear, Corinna thought with a contented smile. He would take care of her.

She wanted those hands around her again. She wanted to feel the little trickle of ecstasy she had felt watering her soul the moment he had grazed her cheek with his finger. She wanted the sudden rush, the flood of abandonment to all senses she felt with him on the porch the moment she was certain he would kiss her.

What did his lips feel like? Were they as soft as his caress or as rough as his hands? It didn't matter. Corinna wanted an innocent peck to become a hungry, passionate exploration, the sort of joining her cousins in Southern India whispered about when their mother and the servants weren't around to overhear them speaking of their lovers.

Erik turned and caught her staring at him. She turned away as quickly as she could but heard him chuckle.

"Yes?" she said, taking a half-step forward.

Erik shrugged. "You."

"What about me?"

Erik bent down to retrieve a tube, his body disappearing behind the bed. "Everything," he answered.

Corinna's brow furrowed. "Are you making fun of me?"

He turned around and hastily shook his head, bracing himself on the bed as he rose. "No, not at all." A smile changed his expression to something that made her heart race. "I wouldn't. Ever. I--"

His lips parted as though there was something else he wanted to say but he turned around before the thought was given a voice.

"You what?"

"Are you ready?" Erik asked with his back still turned.

"Yes," she answered breathlessly.

She was ready.

Corinna had every intention of telling her father she was in love with Erik. When he returned to India, she would tell him what she wanted. When he saw how happy his daughter was, he wouldt give Erik permission to ask for her hand.


	34. Trust

_My sincerest apologies for the delay of this chapter! My 'other' Erik in Ghost's Shadow has been very talkative. _

_In the last chapter, Erik and Corinna were a bit cozy. _

Noir34

_She had been dead for hours. Ari Nadir crouched down and waved his hand above the young girl's blue lips, sending flies from her open mouth. It was difficult to look at, but he forced his eyes to survey what damage had been done before death. _

_Bruises. Scrapes. Dried blood on the insides of her bare thighs. _

_He swallowed and nodded at the man crouched down opposite the body, a young palace guard who had come running to Ari's door an hour before dawn. The other man present in the quarry stood with his back to the rising sun. _

_"She rode on my shoulders yesterday," the young man said once Ari rose and stood beside him. The young man still stared at the little girl, his face contorted in a grimace. "She laughed when I ducked through the doorway."_

_Ari nodded, seeing the distress in Erik's dark green eyes. "Was she dead when you found her this morning?"_

_He nodded in return, unable to draw his eyes away from her face. "I shook her arm but she never moved."_

_"Where was she?"_

_"By the western wall," Erik said, pointing to the far end of the rock quarry where workers still chiseled and delivered rock onto waiting carts. _

_Ari made no reply. He stared at the distant wall partially hidden beneath a growing gray cloud of rock dust, sand, and dirt. The onion-shaped dome beyond the high wall revealed the old palace and its half-circle balcony. He hadn't seen anyone on the balcony, which was unusual, as the Little Sultana enjoyed taking her breakfast while overlooking the laborers who were erecting the new palace._

_"Why did you move her?" Ari questioned._

_"I didn't want someone to bury her body here, in the quarry. She should be cleansed and mourned. Shouldn't she? She's only a child."_

_Ari ignored Erik's nervous ramblings. He saw much of himself in the young foreigner and recalled the days when finding a dead child would test his resolve and his stomach. As the commissioner of the police he saw many horrific things weekly. This nameless girl was no different. There was a rope around the girl's neck wrapped so tight that it had cut into her throat. This was the second body found in two weeks._

_"Mr. Levesque, do you remember a child named Sunita?" _

_The younger man thought for a moment. "I haven't seen her for a week and a half, but yes. Tall and thin, if I'm not mistaken, with eyes of two different colors?"_

_Ari nodded. That was how her mother had identified the body. The girl with one blue eye and one golden. _

_"I danced with her at the Sultana's birthday celebration," Erik commented. _

_"Yes, I recall that now. And this girl here, you said you carried her around yesterday?"_

_Erik nodded. "She was leaving the Sultana's apartments." His face darkened. "I should have been more careful."_

_"How do you mean?"_

_Erik shrugged. "I should have watched her more closely. Perhaps someone was waiting for her after I left."_

_"There was nothing to be done," the daroga said. He glanced behind at the men waiting to remove the body from the worksite and motioned them forward. _

_"I was late arriving this morning. If I had come earlier—"_

_"Mr. Levesque, unless you were in the quarry all night at the scene of the crime it would not have made much of a difference."_

_"Someone should have protected her. She was only what? Seven years old at the most?" _

_"Mr. Levesque, I understand."_

_"She was laughing yesterday. I had her on my shoulders. You don't understand—" the young man began to protest but Ari raised his hand and stopped him. _

_"It's unfortunate, Mr. Levesque, but there is nothing you could have done. You're not, for lack of a better word, an angelic protector or otherworldly force. You are only a man. If you believe otherwise it will drive you mad."_

_"An angel?" Erik questioned under his breath. He knelt down and pulled the girl's skirt over her blue legs, masking the dark bruises and the dried rivulets of blood coloring the inside of her thighs. _

_Ari studied the peculiar look in the architect's eyes. It was impossible to ignore the pensive expression slowly washing over the oval face, settling into the dark green eyes. It was enigmatic, lacking hope and full of darkness. _

_"What is it, my son?"_

_The young man shook his head. "Whoever killed her will find an Angel of Death waiting." _

_Ari couldn't help but think that the person responsible for her demise was the Angel of Death._

Ari Nadir pounded on the wooden door of the small hut standing on the darkest corner of the city. The hut was like a drop of mud in a gleaming palace city standing proudly with white walls and gold trim.

"They found him," Ari said as the door swung open.

Sanjeev Desai stared blankly at Ari. He started to shake his head. "What hour is it?"

"Late," Ari replied. He stepped forward and let himself into the miniscule abode. "But not too late, let's hope."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Nadir. Of whom are you speaking?"

"Erik," Ari snapped. "Erik Levesque. He allegedly abducted a young woman."

"Corinna," Sanjeev gasped, holding his hand to his heart.

Ari shook his head as he paced the length of the dirt floor. "Your daughter is safe, Mr. Desai. According to a message sent to Mr.Baleeze, he took Anisha Patel. If I understood correctly she's Mr. Baleeze's fiancée."

Sanjeev's eyes narrowed. "Why would he abduct…Mr. Nadir, this is not in his nature."

"Do you know his nature?"

Ari's words seemed to agitate Sanjeev. "I helped him escape as a favor to you, Ari. You vouched for his character. Are you withdrawing your good word now, when he is hundreds of miles away with my only child?"

"I've spent twenty years scouring the street for vagrants, scoundrels, and the unscrupulous. I would like to think that I can look a man in the eye and know whether or not I must follow him into an alley."

"So, you are saying my daughter is safe?"

"From Erik? He's a man, Sanjeev, and I have seen your daughter. She would test the will of any virile creature."

Sanjeev threw his hands in the air and walked the length of the room.

"You should worry about him as much as you would any other honorable man," Ari replied.

"Honorable?" Sanjeev questioned.

"You spent weeks in the desert with him, San. He gave you three year's worth of earnings without question, did he not?"

Sanjeev gave a reluctant nod. "He gave me his money and I gave him my daughter. And now he has abducted my niece!"

"There is no proof, Mr. Desai. Allow me to remind you that these are all merely accusations."

"You doubt his involvement?" Sanjeev asked, sounding surprised.

"Mr. Levesque was quiet when he was employed by the Sultan, very reserved and shy. For the three years I knew him he merely planned and built, nothing more. No drinking, no partaking in anything of a lascivious nature. He kept to himself and never stirred the waters. Building was the only thing that interested him despite many opportunities to participate in less honorable activities. Would a man—a highly intelligent man—find it necessary to steal another man's promised bride?"

"Perhaps he desired a challenge," Sanjeev ventured.

"Possibly. But I don't believe he would risk the consequences. The wounds from his first betrayal are undoubtedly still healing."

Sanjeev nodded darkly. "I had forgotten." He moved his tongue across his teeth and shrugged. "I will leave tomorrow afternoon to return to India."

"Mr. Baleeze leaves at dawn." The daroga paused. "With the Sultana and her guards."

Sanjeev turned back to face Ari. "And you, my friend?"

The daroga frowned. "I am at the Sultan's service, Sanjeev. He has asked me to accompany his favorite wife."

"When shall we leave?"

"Now."

-o-

With the building plans in hand, Erik and Corinna walked to the lobby and asked one of the maids who was tidying up if she would bring a carafe of tea. The older woman, with streaks of gray hair threaded through her dark braid, had looked them over and finally nodded.

"Lovers," she muttered in Hindi as she walked from the lobby and disappeared through a doorway.

Once she returned and had left their tea, they never saw her again. Erik spread the papers over a small coffee table and pinned the corners down with several polished brass paperweights he had found in a writing desk.

Erik and Corinna sat in the lobby shortly after midnight, knees touching as they huddled over the palazzo designs. No one had passed through the common area since the maid had brought their tea earlier, and the seclusion only encouraged their giddy laughter.

"You are tired," Erik said as he moved one sheet of paper aside and placed a new one on top.

"I am not."

"You are," he chuckled. "Everything amuses you."

"You're laughing as much as I am."

"No, you're worse," he protested. "Listen to yourself."

Corinna giggled again. "Perhaps a little. But I have no desire to sleep yet. I want to see the rest of the drawings."

"Designs," he corrected.

Corinna snorted and reached for tea. "Designs," she mimicked in a deep voice.

"How certain are you that your cup is filled with tea?" Erik asked, raising a brow.

They both laughed again until Corinna nearly spilled her tea on the papers. Without warning, Erik grabbed her wrist and entwined his fingers with hers.

She laughed nervously. "What are you doing?"

"There," he said, holding her hand against his. "Until you can be trusted again."

Corinna looked at their joined hands, at the pallid tone of his flesh against the titian shade of her soft skin. Her heart began to race, her body filling with electricity she had never known before. She watched intently, finding it impossible to swallow as Erik's thumb ran along her knuckles.

Her attention was so fully focused on the light swirl of his caress that she barely noticed he had leaned in closer, so close that their shoulders and elbows touched.

She turned to speak but her breath hitched in her throat as she stared into his face. He was so close that she could have counted his long, thick eyelashes if her attention hadn't lingered between staring at his lips and gazing into his eyes.

"Erik," she whispered.

Erik grunted in response to Corinna saying his name. He leaned in closer, close enough that she felt each of his breaths on her face. His hand squeezed hers more tightly, his head tilting to the side. She felt drunk and nervous, calm and excited.

Each sensation intensified once his free hand moved to her cheek and swept the stray hairs behind her ears. It was beyond comprehension how something so pleasurable tormented her with pin pricks prodding deep in her belly, along her legs, in her chest, and in private places she had never felt before.

She forced herself to swallow, begged her eyes to stay open as he ran his thumb along her lips. She released a barely audible gasp as his face neared hers, as she watched his lips slowly part. She felt his warm, strong hand at the back of her neck, his fingers stroking her flesh in agonizing delight.

He searched her eyes for permission and Corinna faintly smiled in shy response. His hand at the nape of her neck slowly drew her toward him, his fingers abandoning hers as he swept his arm around her.

A surge of ecstasy bolted through her as Erik's lips tenderly met with hers. She felt his tense body relax, his arms slowly melting around her as they shared a soft, dream-like embrace. His lips tasted like the honey from his tea and Corinna couldn't stop herself from touching his lips with her tongue.

The shock of it nearly drew her away but Erik held her firmly, cradling her in his arms, holding her until she forgot that her knee was partially draped over his, her arms around his back. She only knew the sweet taste of his mouth, of his tongue greeting hers, of the comforting warmth of his breaths on her face and the slight sting of his rough face against her smooth cheeks and chin.

He rubbed her back as the first kiss ended. Without a word, Corinna leaned into him again and gently pecked his closed lips, longing to feel the same overwhelming rush she had felt when his tongue entered her mouth. Her insides continued to flutter, focusing her energy and desire on a realm she was becoming increasingly aware of the longer she sat with her leg draped over Erik's lap.

She caught him staring at her chest and glanced down to see what had earned his attention. When she noticed herself she gasped, embarrassed by the tiny points accentuating the tips of her small breasts. She felt his hand slide across her back and knew what he would do.

She sighed harshly and his hand stopped at her side. With his eyes averted, he dropped his arm to his side as Corinna moved back onto the couch again.

Erik exhaled hard and ran his hand through his hair, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She attempted to keep her eyes on his face but it was impossible. He was a man. It was far too obvious that the secret areas she felt throbbing were not as easily contained on his anatomy.

Corinna blushed and turned away. "Would you walk me to my room?"

Erik had to clear his throat before he found his voice. "Of course," he answered hoarsely. "Would you help me?" He gestured to the sheets of paper.

Corinna sat beside him again, her hands trembling and heart wildly thumping. Erik couldn't grasp the paperweights, which amused Corinna as he dropped one on the floor and one on his foot.

"Roll them and I will put them in the tube. But roll them as tightly as possible or they won't all fit into the tube," he said. "Or do you want to put them in and I'll roll them?"

Corinna handed the first drawing back. "How is that?"

He glanced it over. "Perfect," he said, glancing at her with a smile.

Corinna's blush deepened when she watched him insert the rolled up paper into the tube. His hands worked with grace and ease, and she couldn't help but think of how he had just held her.

She handed the second rolled up document to Erik, waited for him to place it into the container, and then waited for him to look up at her.

"What is it?" he asked, brow raised.

Corinna proceeded to kiss him again, feeling the same rush overtake all good sense as his hands wrapped around her and lifted her from the couch. The drawings ignored, he carried her upstairs, holding her tightly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

The drunken feeling ended only when he placed her on her own two feet and gently kissed her on her cheek.

"I will see you at breakfast," he said as he played with her hair. He kissed the back of her hand and gave a short but chivalrous bow, which elicited a giggle from Corinna. "Ursula is most likely listening for you right this moment," he grinned.

"Erik—"

"Tomorrow," he said. "We can sit by the river and watch the boats pass."

"I'm not tired," Corinna protested.

Erik held her close a moment longer. "Neither am I but it's for the best."

"Let's return to the parlor."

"Your reputation has been challenged enough for the night."

Corinna exhaled in disappointment. She couldn't tell him that she didn't care about her virtue or what people said. But her father would be furious, Ursula would be partially to blame, and she would lose Erik forever.

Erik kissed her again, once on the cheek and once on the lips. He pulled away from her slowly and trailed his fingertips down the length of her arm. "Good night."


	35. The Warning

Noir34

Ursula was waiting behind the door for Corinna when she walked into the bedroom and shut the door. With a stern, unwavering expression she watched Corinna jump when she saw her.

"You frightened me," Corinna said in Hindi. "I thought you retired for the night."

"I was wrong," Ursula replied, giving Corinna a stone-cold glare. "It's not Erik I need to worry about, it's you."

"Pardon me?"

Ursula's eyes hardened. "You know very well what I mean. You, Miss Desai, have no inhibitions. It's very unbecoming of a girl your age to be so foolish!"

Corinna shook her head, feigning an innocence that was transparent to her companion. "I have no idea what you mean. We were merely speaking in the lobby."

Ursula blew air past her lips and rolled her eyes. "How could you possibly speak? The two of you could not even breathe in your lecherous position. Yes, that's right," she said when she saw the shock register on Corinna's face. "I saw how the two of you were behaving in plain sight. You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

"It was only a kiss," Corinna replied with a shrug. Not even she believed it was so simple. It was the most profound sensation she had ever experienced. It had felt like a fire pit deep inside had suddenly been filled with a thousand logs, all of which were put to flame at the same time. The initial heat had cooled once Corinna saw Ursula but she was certain that if Erik came through the door the fire would immediately be stoked again.

"Clearly you think I'm a blind fool," Ursula barked. "I saw how you placed your leg over his. I was surprised you didn't burst into flames, child! Have you no sense? Your father would be furious—I am furious!"

Corinna turned away and began unbraiding her hair. Everything felt too right to be something to fuss over. Erik had kissed her and nothing more. "He didn't do anything."

"But you wanted him to, didn't you?"

With a heavy sigh Corinna pulled the dresser drawer open and reached for her gown. "I have self control," she muttered, wondering if it were true.

"You're going to get yourself into trouble."

Corinna made no reply, thinking that this man was worth all the trouble in the world. Still, she knew Ursula was correct. The moment she had realized her leg was draped over Erik's she felt the surge of danger, the sweet temptation of peril beckoning her further. Caught in the moment, Corinna knew she would have done little to resist his touch.

She hadn't been in full possession of her senses. The promise of romance had infiltrated her cautious, chaste side and made her weak with desire.

But I felt so powerful! Corinna told herself, hands squeezing around the cotton gown. All she knew was that she wanted to experience the same feelings all over again It felt like floating, like falling, like everything in the world that she wanted to know.

"Did you know your cousin is looking for Erik?" Ursula asked. She saw Corinna freeze, gown in hand as she prepared to change for bed. "Before you came inside Ravi called for you. I told him you were in the courtyard in the back."

Corinna whirled around to face her companion, her lips parted and eyes wide. With as much protesting as Ursula had done over Erik being their guardian she couldn't imagine why she would send Ravi in the opposite direction.

"What else did he say?" Corinna asked, stepping away from the changing area.

"He asked if I had seen Erik or Anisha. He thought they would be together." Ursula sat on her bed and rubbed her tired eyes. "Ravi wants Erik to return to Dareesh by tomorrow afternoon."

With her head bowed, Corinna disappeared behind the changing screen. The warmth she once felt inside cooled to icy alarm. Ravi's insistence on finding Anisha alarmed Corinna. As she pulled her arms through her nightgown she wanted to kick herself for not mentioning her apprehension in greater detail to Erik. When she told him Ravi was in Chandernagore he had only shrugged.

Once she finished dressingshe sat on her bed and stared at her knees.

"I saw Ravi outside the Inn when we were looking for Erik," Corinna said blankly. "He was very adamant about finding him but he wouldn't tell me what he wanted with Anisha and Erik."

"That should come as no surprise. You know how he is."

Corinna nodded. Ravi didn't like Ursula because she was from the Southern region of India. He thought of Corinna and her companion as little more than trained animals. Ravi didn't like anyone who wasn't Indian, which was why she found it strange that her uncle would appoint Ravi as Erik's translator. She had requested that her Uncle Pandir allow her to show Erik around but her uncle didn't want her role as guide to become an excuse for wandering off alone with the architect.

"What do you think Ravi is doing here?" Corinna asked obtusely.

"Come now, Corinna, you know already, don't you?"

Corinna nodded, feeling a sting of jealousy. "Everyone saw how he watched her at the engagement party. When she traveled here…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "She's going to get him into trouble if he is not careful."

Ursula's face darkened. "I fear she already has."

-0-

The moment Erik closed the door and locked it he stopped and grimaced. In the heat of the moment he had left his work in the lobby below. Though he was fairly certain that no one would meddle with his designs he couldn't sleep knowing they weren't in his room.

His eyes felt as though they were filled with sand and his muscles ached as he opened the door and dragged his weary body down the stairs again. For a holiday, Chandernagore had proven to be exhausting.

As he jumped off the second step and strolled toward the lobby Erik couldn't help but think that the only moments he had enjoyed were the times he spent with Corinna. Each moment spent lusting over Anisha was wasted time. Nothing had proved that more to him than when he kissed Corinna in the lobby.

Erik heard himself exhale at the recollection. Holding her hand in his had evoked a stir of emotions but nothing compared to what had transpired after that innocent gesture. He glanced down and saw the red scratches on his wrists where the Dutchman had fought him to breathe outside in the courtyard. The sight made him shudder as he thought of the gunshots, the beautiful animals, and the ignorant fools out on their holiday.

He rubbed his fingers over his wrist and frowned. How could one moment be so angry and the next so completely intoxicating? The feelings Corinna created within him were far better than the anger he knew so well. He still felt slightly drunk on the mere thought of her beside him, of how he knew a touch and a kiss that had not last nearly long enough stirred her in the same way it rustled his desires.

With a yawn, Erik sat down and gathered the two tubes that had rolled beneath the small table, wondering what would have happened if he hadn't sent Corinna into her own room. A healthy imagination left him tangled in daydreams of her thighs the curves of her hips and everything between.

Erik inhaled deeply and searched the air for a hint of her warm, familiar scent. He sifted through each detail, starting with seeing Corinna on the outside steps and ending with her walking into her room. His mind continued to pause on the feel of her lips. Was there any better feeling than being so close to a beautiful woman?

As the memory consumed him, Erik was unaware that he was no longer alone in the parlor. He sat loosely clutching the tubes that rested on his knees, his thoughts pushing further and further into the fantasy of what could have happened had he taken her back to his room.

The longer he sat the more he knew his imagination was fruitless and frustrating. He was better off recalculating measurements than pining over Corinna. Still, it was satisfying that his feelings had been returned. He smiled to himself as he thought of her breathless. He felt somewhat triumphant that she had to cross her arms over her chest to hide a sign of her pleasure.

Erik wanted nothing more than to sweep her off her feet and marry her. With the money he earned in Persia and the small fortune he expected to make here in India he could take care of Corinna. She would live like a princess, he thought. If she wanted a palace he would build her one. He would do whatever she asked as long as her father gave him permission to wed his daughter.

"Profound," he said under his breath. Being in love was the most pleasant form of chaos he had ever known.

Erik glanced at the doorway and froze, lips parted in surprise.

"H-how are you are feeling?" he asked.

Anisha looked away from him once she saw her gaze was returned. "You need to leave at once."

"It's late, I realize, but what are you doing out here? And alone at that?"

"You need to leave," she said again, her tone more insistent. She crossed and uncrossed her arms, moving restlessly in the doorway.

With a nod, Erik rose to his feet, unsure of how close she would allow him to get to her following her encounter with Joseph.

"I'll walk you to your room. You should rest yourself," he said. He balanced all of his work in one hand and started to reach for her but she swiftly moved away. Instantly he regretted his foolish offer. The last thing he wanted to do was inadvertently threaten her.

"Don't touch me."

"I—I didn't mean anything by it. I won't…do anything to harm you."

Her dark eyes filled with tears. "You must leave at once. Before they find you. Before they take you. If he…" her words stopped as she turned away from him.

Erik lowered his voice. Joseph had put her through such an ordeal that he didn't want to upset Anisha any further but he still wanted to know what she meant. "What's wrong?"

"It's not safe here."

He nodded, sympathizing with her. He imagined no woman would feel safe in the building where she was taken against her will.

"Would you rather stay with Ursula and Corinna than by yourself? Their room is near mine, if you asked I'm sure—"

"You must leave," Anisha ordered again. She turned toward him again, lips trembling. "Forgive me."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "There is nothing to forgive. You have done nothing wrong."

And without another word she was gone.


	36. Escape

_Sorry about the slow updates! I will have two chapters up this week following this one. Promise!_

Noir35

Joseph DeChantel stood on the ferry dock and strained to see the time on his pocket watch. His belongings were crammed into a single suitcase at his side, which felt like the only things he possessed in the world.

Fear gripped him, strangled him with a force he had never felt before. For the past five years women had come to him willingly. He needed only a smile and his prominent name to persuade a woman to join him for a few hours in the afternoon or for the night.

In India, however, his name meant nothing. The DeChantels did not own half the countryside. They were not known for their building and trading and distilling. If he stayed a moment longer the name his father, grandfather and great-grandfather had strived so hard to make would be forever tarnished because of a girl who had changed her mind.

She was beautiful, Joseph reflected. He nervously glanced over his shoulder and saw the empty dirt path behind him. My God was she beautiful, a dark Goddess with large eyes, firm breasts, and a slim physique. However, when she had first taken his hand Joseph knew she would not be thinking of him as he kissed her lips or ran his hands down the length of her body. When she stepped from her sari and straddled him, he knew this radiant beauty would not whisper his name. She was not interested in him but it didn't matter.

Now she would never forget him.

Joseph's patience waned. The longer it took the ferry to arrive the greater his fears escalated that Anisha would send someone to arrest him. Yet he knew enough of Indian culture to realize his fears were unwarranted. She was disgraced. It was shameful that she had been….he couldn't bring himself to think that word. What a terrible, sinful word. It wouldn't have happened had she not suddenly changed her mind.

He blew air past his lips and pulled the handkerchief Lilian had embroidered for him from his pocket and mopped his brow. The Indian girl had been willing, he told himself. She had merely changed her mind without notice, which was not his fault. Women should know better. He was a man and men had needs. Lilian had been so cold lately so how was he expected to be led into temptation and then deny himself?

The attraction was purely physical. Joseph had no intention of leaving his wife for any exotic beauty. His parents would not accept the union much less the children that would certainly come in future years.

"Pardon me, sir," a voice called from behind.

Joseph spun on his heel and stared at the approaching figure. The young Indian man raised his right hand as he jogged down the path toward the dock.

"Y-yes?" Joseph asked, knowing he was trapped on the dock.

"You speak French?"

"Yes."

"It is Chandernagore," the man said under his breath. "Damned French colony.

"I know a little Hindi if it serves you better," Joseph offered.

"No, French is fine. I am looking for a young woman," the man said. He held his hand to the level of his chin. "She's about this tall, light-skinned Indian girl. Black eyes, black hair, she has a small mole right here on her jaw."

Joseph shook his head. "She's not with me. There is no one here at all."

"Yes, I see that, but have you seen her? She is my cousin. I've been searching all day for her."

"I apologize, Mr…"

"Patel. Ravi Patel."

"Patel?"

"Yes, my cousin is Anisha Patel."

Joseph felt sweat stream down his forehead. "Well, I sincerely hope you find her soon. Women should not be out alone this late at night. It's quite dangerous."

Ravi nodded and turned away a moment before he faced Joseph again. "I am also looking for a Frenchman."

The night grew darker and Joseph swayed, finding his throat had tightened. He stepped back on the dock until his heels were at the very edge. "A Frenchman?"

"He was with her earlier." Ravi stepped forward. "At the Inn on Rue de Russo."

Joseph shook his head again, unable to speak. They had come for him. Anisha had disappeared and now her family was out looking for the perpetrator. In a flash his life slipped away. He had no idea what the punishment would be—imprisonment, flogging, death….what did these savages do to convicted men?

With as much dignity as he could muster, Joseph stepped forward. He would face this like a man. "I was at the Inn on Rue de Russo, Mr. Patel."

Ravi studied Joseph for a moment. Joseph saw that the man was in his early twenties with a long, thin face and a large nose. Heart hammering, Joseph looked away, fearing his lust for Anisha would show through his terror.

"If you stayed at the Inn then perhaps you have seen this man or heard of him."

"Perhaps."

"His name is Erik Levesque."

Joseph 's lips parted. They weren't looking for him. They were searching for Erik. His name seemed to be clear of the lecherous label he had expected.

"Levesque?" Joseph echoed.

"I believe he is the reason why my cousin disappeared."

Erik was the reason why his cousin had disappeared, Joseph thought, mesmerized by the idea. Levesque, who had spent hours at Jacques DeChantel's writing desk sketching imaginary buildings, ignoring the other children and their games, was behind this girl's disappearance. This man wanted Levesque, who had ended a trophy hunt for three beautiful tigers and released two of the animals into the wild. Erik Levesque who had threatened to kill a man he found forcing a woman to give into his needs.

Joseph felt relief course through his blood. He was not the man they were looking for in Chandernagore. He was not to blame for this girl's disappearance. They wanted Erik, they wanted the man who wouldn't know what to do with a woman's body even if she was completely undressed and laid out before him.

"I know this man," Joseph said, finding his voice again. "He fled France years ago. The last I had heard he was in Persia, but my wife and I saw him here."

"You've known him for a while?"

Joseph nodded. "Indeed. And I've never trusted him."

-0-

Anisha felt the cage walls closing in around her. She packed what clothes she thought she would need into a small bag and held it close to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Ravi had not given her a chance to respond. He had seen the marks on her neck and chest as he held her by the wrists and pulled her sari down from her shoulder. Once he thoroughly inspected the marks on the upper half of her body, he yanked her skirt up and saw the small dried trail of blood along the inside of her knee.

_"Serves you right," he told her as he threw her down on the bed and stormed across the room. He stalked back and forth, muttering to himself that he would not tolerate the Patel name being tarnished. _

_"What in the hell were you thinking when you came here?"_

_Anisha couldn't bring herself to speak. With her head in her hands she cried, hoping her cousin would not tell her father. _

_"You will regret the day you met him. I will make certain of that, Anisha."_

At her cousin's threats Anisha fled from the Inn. She sprinted down the stairs, stumbled down the street until she stood by the riverside, chest heaving and brow damp with sweat. Her stomach was in knots, her body sore from fighting Joseph.

Shaking, she searched the docks, hoping she would find Erik in enough time to warn him. In her heart she knew that she owed him her life. Joseph would have suffocated her had Erik not shown up and rescued her.

Anisha heard Ravi shouting for her and ran back toward the Inn, fearing what he would do if he found her. Unable to think, the only thing she knew for certain was that she had to leave Chandernagore. She had to leave India. The farther she could travel from her family the better. She knew they would never forgive her for this, especially if she conceived a child.

London came to mind. She knew several families in London who may help her. Germany as well—France, even. Anisha held her breath. Erik was from France. Perhaps he could help her.

No, she decided. She couldn't ask him for anything else. She had seen the way he looked at Corinna and the way Corinna returned the gaze. The first time Anisha had noticed was at the table in the café when he had teased her with the flower. She had seen it again as they stood outside the Inn doing nothing more than holding onto one another. Though she didn't understand why he was attracted to her cousin, Anisha had no desire to involve Corinna in her troubles. Being spiteful would gain nothing.

There had to be someone else she could ask for help. It would be too much of a risk if she approached Erik again, especially if Corinna was at his side. If Ravi found them together he would be merciless.

It was better to escape alone. Anisha's only hope was that Erik would heed the warning she gave him and leave India at once. If she could find him, perhaps she would send him to the estate she had in mind, the place she had visited with her father several miles north of France.

If only she could remember the Count's last name. Anisha knew she would have felt better. The only thing she knew for certain was that the Count and Countess had two young sons. Philippe, named after his father. The youngest? Richard, she thought.

She would send a message in the morning and hope her word made it to France before she did.


	37. Sunrise

Noir36

Joseph and Ravi silently followed the river north to Calcutta. Both exhausted and dirty, the small wooden raft they had trailed for three miles proved to be two young men attempting to return home before they were caught by their fathers.

They were wasting time. Ravi's irritation grew now that Anisha had suddenly disappeared and Erik was nowhere to be found. He knew he should send Mr. DeChantel on his way and find the two on his own.

While the European steered the craft downriver Ravi studied him. He had somewhat piggish features with close-set eyes and a nose that turned up at the end. The strong jaw and thick hair most likely attracted women to his side. Ravi was also repulsed by how many times he mentioned his family, as though the name should impress him.

Nothing could impress Ravi. His uncle Pandir Patel was one of the wealthiest men in India. Riches were associated with the British who came in hordes and took all India had to offer. "Merciless, ruthless, unscrupulous men," Uncle Pandir would often say. He was proud to have an alliance with Girish Baleeze. Mr. Baleeze showed the same determination for success as Mr. Patel. They were a perfect association.

And now the union of Mr. Patel's daughter and Mr. Baleeze would be destroyed because of a damned European, Ravi thought. He wondered how Mr. Patel would punish his brother-in-law for introducing him to Erik Levesque.

"There," Joseph said. "Up ahead! That's him."

Ravi squinted. The sun was only beginning to rise over the horizon but even in the gray light of dawn he could see that the ferry ahead of them contained only a bent old man and two boys no older than ten.

"How long have you known Mr. Levesque for again?" Ravi questioned.

"Since childhood. His father worked for my father."

"Your father was an architect?"

"Briefly. He was also a trader. In his heart he was a businessman, though he had a soft spot for the destitute."

"Such as the Levesques?"

Joseph shrugged. "Mr. Levesque senior had a different name before he came to France. Lidst, if I remember correctly. He was of Scandinavian decent, though in his earlier days he was an extortionist. He stole from his family, his friends, his church—anyone he could find. My father didn't know this until much later. He kept them around. He kept everyone around." Joseph chuckled to himself. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. "He would have kept the maids around as well if Mother—"

"The maids?" Ravi questioned.

Joseph's mouth snapped shut. He cleared his throat and began dabbing at his face again. "We had some trouble with the help for a brief time."

Ravi's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

"They had disgraceful departures," Joseph answered brusquely. "My father gave them substantial funds and sent them away."

"Your father was very generous," Ravi commented. He turned away from Joseph and closed his hand around the guard of his dagger. "Now tell me, how many of these departures were the result of your seed?"

Before Joseph could answer, Ravi's blade touched Joseph's neck. He saw the fear in the European's eyes, though he wasn't certain if it was the fear of being revealed or the fear of death.

"Please, sir," Joseph managed. "It's not me you're looking for."

-0-

Corinna woke unexpectedly with the sunrise and slid her feet over the edge of the bed. The sound of trumpeting in the distance made her sigh. She hadn't heard the call of elephants in many years and the regal sound was distinct and welcomed. It reminded her of better days when her mother was alive and her father was genuinely happy.

Ursula was still deep asleep, her mouth open and half her face buried in the pillow. Corinna smiled at her companion. She knew Ursula only wanted the best for her.

Ursula would be disappointed when she woke and discovered Corinna had left the room. Guilt tugged at her heart as she prepared a brief note explaining where she was going. She dressed, slipped on her shoes and padded from the room, hoping Ursula would understand what had to be done.

-0-

"We should reach Chandernagore by sundown in two days," Mr. Desai said groggily to Mr. Nadir. He leaned back in the carriage and closed the burgundy velvet curtain, releasing a sigh of frustration. Dawn was approaching.

The two had not stopped traveling since Ari had rapped upon Sanjeev's door late in the night two days ago. Starving and exhausted, they sat back and listened as the horse and carriage thundered through northwestern India, attempting to rest when they could drown out the noise and the violent movement of their coach.

"Two days?" Nadir asked, obviously as anxious as his fellow traveler.

"Only if the monsoons don't hit and we are unhindered on the road."

Travel would have been made faster if India were a more industrialized nation, Sanjeev thought ruefully. One of the reasons he had left Dareesh was due to the primitive nature of his country. Most of Europe was slowly being connected through trains, as were cities in the United States, but India was years behind. His brother-in-law strove for progress, as did Girish Baleeze. They had high hopes in campaigning for the Sultan to provide funds for improvements.

"Do you think two days will be enough time to find him?"

"I hope so," Sanjeev replied.

Exchanging Erik in favor of their cause was beginning to sound feasible the more Sanjeev thought about it. From the stories Ari Nadir had relayed thus far, the Little Sultana had many intentions for Erik if she found him again. Girish and Pandir would not have second thoughts about handing him over for a small fee.

Sanjeev Desai pressed his eyes closed and grimaced. "My nephew Ravi Patel is responsible for the household while Pandir is away. As you said, he sent the letter to my brother-in-law and Mr. Baleeze."

"Does that mean we are too late?"

"That means the odds are certainly not in our favor."

Sanjeev pounded his leg with his fist. He knew the way Ravi felt about Europeans and feared the worst. Not only was Erik in danger, but Sanjeev had a sinking sensation growing in his stomach that Corinna was also in danger.

"You're worried about your daughter," Ari observed.

Sanjeev nodded. "She's all I have left. If I had a son I would be worried, but there are far worse fates for daughters to suffer than sons."

"If Mr. Levesque is with her I believe he would protect her from harm."

Sanjeev shook his head. "I'm worried for both of them, not just Corinna."

With nothing left to do, Sanjeev leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and hoped Erik, Corinna and Ursula were all safe.

-0-

Caught in a deep sleep filled with the first pleasant dreams he had experienced in months, Erik wasn't sure if the knock at the door was real or imagined.

He brought the blanket closer to his chin and sighed, savoring the pleasant warmth and soft sheets.

Tap, tap, tap.

His eyes reluctantly opened and he turned from his side to his back and squinted at the ceiling. It took all his energy to put both feet on the floor and drag his weary body toward the door.

The moment he saw Corinna standing in the hallway, he stood up straighter and ran his hand through his hair.

"Good morning," he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

Corinna smiled back. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

He nodded. "I had to return to the lobby last night to retrieve my drawings." His brow furrowed as he thought of his peculiar encounter with Anisha. "Have you seen your cousin?"

"Anisha? No. Why do you ask?"

"I saw her in the lobby when I returned. She apologized to me."

Corinna turned her head to the side. "What did she apologize for?"

Erik shrugged. "She never said, but she told me I must leave at once." He tapped the doorframe with his knuckles. "I'm worried about her. I was hoping you had seen her."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Erik looked away, wishing he could tell Corinna what had happened to Anisha. Her attack was something that was not spoken of in India. The incident would be labeled her fault no matter what had actually happened. It galled him. But tradition was tradition and he could not interfere.

Corinna shook her head at last. "No, I haven't seen Anisha but if you would like we could both look for her."

Erik turned his attention back to Corinna. "Why are you awake at this hour? It's barely past dawn."

A smile crept onto her face. "I heard elephants."

"Elephants?"

She nodded. "In the distance. Would you like to see?"

Exhaustion left Erik as he gazed at Corinna. She was a perfect little morning glory waking with the dawn.

"Of course," he answered. "Wait here."

He shut the door and dressed in traditional Indian garb, which caused Corinna to smile brighter when she saw him again.

"You look well dressed as a native," she grinned as they walked down the stairs and passed through the lobby.

"Do you think the elephants will approve?" he teased.

Her shoulder rubbed against his as they turned a corner. Erik felt his hand clench into a fist as a ripple of excitement coursed through his body. It had been nearly impossible to sleep once he returned to his room. He sat at the writing desk and stared at the table top, replaying the moment he had kissed Corinna over and over again.

At last he had decided to retire for the night, knowing the more he thought about it the greater the chance he would go mad analyzing the possibilities. For another two hours he lay in the dark and thought of her face.

Before he knew it he had fallen asleep and she was knocking at the door.

Erik opened the door leading to a quaint dining room occupied by an elderly man in the far corner. A woman with a leathery face and her gray hair twisted into a bun told them they could sit wherever they wished.

They shared breakfast and watched as a boy led a herd of goats down the road behind the Inn. Once the dust motes that rose in the wake of the animals died down, the fields beyond were visible from their table.

"Have you ever ridden an elephant?" Corinna asked.

Erik chuckled to himself. "Horses, mules, camels…no."

"I have."

He stared at her a moment, analyzing her voice, unsure of whether or not she was serious.

"When?"

Corinna shrugged and nibbled on her flat bread. "When I was much younger."

"Much?" he said with a wink. "Is that possible?"

She blushed and turned away, brushing her hair behind her ears. While she stared out the window, Erik studied her face, soaking in each perfect detail. She sipped at her glass of water and followed the trail of workers heading to the tobacco fields. Beyond them, where the trees grew thicker, was more activity. By how the branches swayed Erik assumed the elephants were clearing away the brush.

"It's not my fault you're old," she retorted.

Erik laughed loud enough to gain the attention of the man in the corner and the woman bringing their tea. He pushed his empty plate away and shook his head.

"I'm not old."

"To me you are," she grinned. She sat back and picked her food apart, eating only the top of the biscuits. She struggled to hide her smile. "Someday when I marry I want a young, handsome man."

"And I will build your home," Erik replied.

Her eyes flashed across the table. She shrugged and turned away again. "If my husband decides to hire you," she said coyly.

"If he does I will build you a home grander than the one I have intended for your cousin." Erik leaned forward, willing her to look at him again. She watched him from the corner of her eye while she continued to look out the window.

"It would be unlike anything you have ever seen before," he said, keeping his voice low.

Corinna turned toward him and met his eye. "Then draw it for me."

Erik started to push back from the table but Corinna rose with him. "But first…you must ride an elephant."

"Pardon me?"

"Oh, Mr. Levesque, you cannot come to India and not ride an elephant."


	38. Elephant Ride

Noir37

Ursula woke and found herself alone in the bedroom. She wasn't surprised that Corinna tip-toed out of the room. With the way she had looked each time Erik's name was mentioned Ursula knew he was the only thing on Corinna's mind.

Once she dressed she walked down to breakfast and found the dining room half-full of patrons. Lilian was in the corner with an Indian woman. Upon recognizing Ursula she signaled her over.

"She asks you to join us," the Indian woman said in Tamil. "Do you speak French or English?"

Ursula shook her head.

"My name is Preetay. I will translate if you wish."

"Do you know where her husband is?" Ursula asked.

"His father is sick. He returned to Europe."

"What did she say?" Lilian asked. Ursula turned away when Lilian spoke, pretending not to understand her words.

"She asked where your husband is this morning."

"Oh," Lilian said. "Where are Corinna and Erik?"

Preetay relayed her question and Ursula answered that they had left early to start their day.

"Ask her if they are still attending the opera tonight?"

Ursula answered that she wasn't sure. She hadn't heard anything. Until Lilian mentioned it she had forgotten about the opera.

The conversation continued although it was awkward and slow. The table behind them filled with three young Indian men, all of whom smelled sour from sweat and body odor. Their shirts were damp with perspiration, their clothes dirty and covered in grass stains.

"How much money if we find this man?" one of the three young men asked.

"The shah himself is paying gold," came the answer.

"I can get gold myself."

"And wives."

They laughed to themselves.

"So he's French they say? Dark hair and light eyes. Matches the description of half the damned Europeans here."

"He's scarred."

"Ah, yes, whip marks."

"But how are we to see his back?"

"He should be traveling with two or three Indian girls. That should make him easy to find."

"Stolen?" There was intensity in the question, hope for finding a criminal and demanding blood shed. "Did he kidnap all three of them?

"Does it matter? Gold and wives."

"Ah, but you would turn in your own mother for the promise of riches and virgins."

"What is he wanted for?"

"He kidnapped Pandir Patel's oldest daughter. She's been missing for at least two days now. I have no idea who the other two are or what family they are from. It's my understanding that Mr. Patel fears for his oldest daughter, though by now I'm sure her virtues are ruined. He's better off letting the dog keep the bitch."

"We waste time," one of the men said as he pounded his hands on the tabletop. "We go and find this man before Mr. Patel and Mr. Baleeze return."

Ursula lost the conversation with Preetay and Lilian. Her throat was dry, her mind racing at the exchange she had overheard. Anisha's father was returning. He had men scouring Chandernagore for his daughter and the man who had supposedly stolen her.

"Excuse me," she said as she rose suddenly from the table. She looked at Preetay and forced a smile and a short bow. "I believe I have forgotten something in my room. I apologize."

Preetay explained Ursula's haste to Lilian, who looked concerned.

"She's as pale as a ghost," Lilian commented.

"When you husband leaf?" Ursula asked in English.

"Last night," Lilian stammered, evidently surprised that Ursula spoke something outside an Indian dialect.

"He see Anisha, no?"

"I—I don't understand."

Ursula nodded and left the dining room hoping she found Erik and Corinna before anyone else.

-o-

Corinna sat side-saddle on the back of the Indian elephant while Erik sat behind her with his arms on the bars of the 'elephant saddle', which consisted of several thick blankets sewn together and an iron bar where the rider could hold on during the excursion. Corinna held on with one hand while the other held a blue parasol above her head to shade both of them.

A young boy walked barefoot through the field coaxing the pachyderm with a bunch of bananas. The animal lumbered forward, swaying back and forth while Erik held tightly to the bar.

"Nervous?" Corinna giggled.

"Not really."

"Then why are you holding your breath?"

Erik chuckled. "We're on the back of a two-ton animal! If he chooses to, he could rear up, drop up on our heads and squash us."

"No, he wouldn't do that."

"You know what he's thinking?"

"He is a she and she's too busy eating bananas."

Erik leaned in closer, so close that Corinna could feel his breath on the back of her neck. The sensation gave her goose bumps but she didn't dare pull away. All she could think about was that she wanted so badly to turn around and kiss him again.

The elephant made a sharp turn down the narrow trail, which jarred Corinna to the left. Her feet dangling over the right side of the animal rose from the blankets and she gasped, but Erik braced her by grabbing her around the waist with one arm. Once she was steadied again he didn't let go and she leaned back just slightly until his chin touched her shoulder.

Neither of them spoke for a while, both lost in thought and enjoying the ride. Corinna closed her eyes and focused on his arm wrapped around her middle. She knew she could let go of the bar and Erik would keep her from falling. He would protect her from anything.

The boy clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth and the elephant stopped. Corinna opened her eyes and found that they were near the slow-moving river and the platform they had climbed to ride the elephant. Another boy, presumably their guide's brother, helped Corinna off first while Erik stepped off behind her and brushed his hands along his pant legs, sending dust moats into the air.

"How did you like your first ride on an Indian elephant?"

"A much smoother ride than a camel," Erik said as they walked down the stairs.

"I've never ridden a camel," Corinna said.

"They smell, they spit, they bite, and when the walk they swing you side to side."

"Sounds lovely," she replied sarcastically, setting the parasol on her shoulder.

He started to say something but stopped and continued walking along the river, his pace quickened and his shoulders a bit straighter. He seemed agitated, though Corinna couldn't think of what may have turned him pensive.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he replied.

Corinna momentarily gave up on her prying and watched a peacock and peahen in a tree across the river. The peacock's iridescent tail hung down like a multicolored veil while the female beside him rested in the shade. A lovely pair, she thought, so perfect for one another.

Her attention turned back to Erik, who still hadn't said another word.

"Should we return to the Inn and find Ursula?"

"In a moment," he answered. He looked at her briefly and smiled. "Unless you would rather…"

"No, I would rather stay here," she said. With you, she thought, forever.

With a deep breath, Erik turned to her again. "When I lived in Persia I rode camels with the shah's oldest sons. They thought it was amusing."

"I beg your pardon?"

He trained his gaze on the narrow path ahead. "They thought it was very amusing that I was not well-versed in camel riding. It became somewhat of a jest in the palace."

"What were you doing in the palace? Did you work for the shah?"

He hesitated. "For three years."

"Truly?"

Erik nodded, his pace quickening again until he noticed Corinna struggling to keep up.

"I would rather not discuss it further. If you would not mind."

They hadn't discussed anything but Corinna nodded in agreement, not wishing to offend him. She was about to speak again when something in the water caught her eye.

Before she said anything Erik stopped abruptly and swore under his breath.

It was a body washed up against the reeds, face down with the muddy arms floating up at its sides. Corinna felt her stomach turn. The man had evidently drowned.

"We should tell someone," Corinna said as she backed away.

Erik gingerly stepped forward, picking his way through the overgrown grass until his shoes sloshed into the water and mud.

"Don't touch it! We'll tell someone we found him."

"There's blood," she heard him murmur. "There's blood around his neck…his shoulders. Mon Dieu. He's…"

"Erik, we should go."

Corinna watched in horror as Erik bent down nearer the body and reached out to touch the dead man's shirt.

"Erik!" she called out again but it did nothing to stop him. Before she could call again, Erik grabbed the corpse by the arm and dragged it up onto the embankment.

Corinna closed her eyes, unable to watch another moment. Sickness threatened from low in her belly and she covered her mouth to keep herself from retching.

"Oh God," she heard Erik whisper. "Oh God."

Corinna eyes slit open barely enough to see Erik staring at the overturned body. He looked up at Corinna, his skin unnaturally pale, his hands dripping with blood, mud and river water.

"It's Joseph."


	39. Body by the Riverside

Noir38

Erik splashed back into the river and frantically searched the muddy depths in vain. He dipped his hands into the water to clear away the black and red stains drying on his hands, desperately scrubbing his hands together.

"What are you doing?" Corinna asked as he walked so far into the river that the current swept up to the middle of his thighs.

"His wife might be out there," Erik answered. "If someone killed Joseph then they may have taken Lilian. If something happens to her…" Erik's voice trailed off as he realized he had no idea where to begin his search. By the looks of Joseph's bloated body he had been in the water for some time.

Slowly the fear of drowning replaced his urge to look for Lilian and he stumbled back to Corinna, trembling and barely able to stand.

"Who would do this?" he asked as he blankly stared at Joseph's body. He sat down hard in the tall grass and clasped his hands together, resting his forearms on his knees.

He guessed any number of fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers in France would want him dead. Many women left disgraced and with child would want to slit his throat and toss him into the river.

"We should tell someone," Corinna said, almost begging him to leave the body and come with her. "It's not safe out here."

Erik nodded and glanced up at her as she stood with her back to the sun. He couldn't make out her features as she stood over him with her arms crossed. For a moment he thought she looked powerful, commanding him to rise and join her.

"It's not right to just leave him out here," Erik murmured. He clasped his hands together harder, so hard that his nails dug into his hands. The pain was necessary. It kept him from trembling and forced his stomach to remain still.

"There's nothing we can do," Corinna replied. "What's done is done. If we keep walking perhaps we will find Lilian."

"I know," Erik agreed. He swallowed hard and watched the gnats land on the backs of his hands. The sun was so bright that his skin beneath the residue of river water appeared dull, his nails dark and crusted with mud and muck.

Without looking at Corinna or the body Erik spoke again. "We hated each other. We never said those words, but it was mutual. We absolutely hated one another and wanted to see each other fail." He pulled grass from the ground and ran his fingers along the thin blade, scattering grass seed back onto the ground. "He hated that I spent so much time with his father and I hated him because I wished our lives were exchanged, that I was a child of privilege and he was the son of a servant. I was jealous of him but I had what he wanted. And when I realized it I wanted to make him angry. I hoped he would leave his father's estate."

Corinna looked away, her eyes searching their surroundings every time the breeze made the reeds knock against one another.

"I shouldn't care if he is dead. He did nothing with his father's money save—save terrible things," Erik said, unable to share what he had seen Joseph do to Anisha. "I shouldn't care because I hated him."

Corinna said nothing to his ramblings. She shifted uncomfortably as the breeze rustled her sari. Erik noticed that her hem was damp and then realized she must have followed him into the water. He didn't remember seeing her close enough to him to wet her feet or the bottom of the fabric.

He had taken his eyes off her. Something terrible could have happened to her, something as terrible as what had befallen Joseph DeChantel. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something happened to Corinna.

"He was a lecherous man. But not even I think he deserved this," Erik said quietly. He swallowed hard. "No one deserves to die this way...alone…so violently, so…no one deserves to die this way."

"Erik—"

Before Corinna finished speaking Erik pushed to his feet and loped down the hillside to where Joseph's body lay. His throat had turned to cotton, his head pounded and mind was tugged by hatred and remorse.

Erik knelt down over Joseph's body and shut the sightless eyes. He held his breath as he waved his hand above the frozen face to clear away the flies already finding the corpse of interest.

Still needing to do something more, Erik remained crouched beside the dead form for a moment and closed his eyes, asking for God's mercy to save Joseph's soul.

"Perhaps you don't deserve it, but I hope you find peace."

Erik made the sign of the cross and rose to his feet, suddenly feeling a prick at the back of his neck that made him freeze in his tracks and scan the brush like game suddenly alerting to the scent of a hunter on the wind. After several seconds he found nothing and exhaled, forcing his shoulders to relax. Once he started breathing again he ran his hand along the nape of his neck and felt the hairs standing on end. A shiver ran through him, giving him gooseflesh as he glanced around for a second time, certain now that he was being watched.

Something was wrong. He couldn't describe what it was but he knew the feeling well. He had experienced the same sensation his last free night in Persia. The night before the Sultana had him arrested. The night before he was locked in a cell. The night before he was flogged.

His eyes shut, recalling the sound of the whip before it hit his back. He never wanted to hear that sound again, the hiss before the bite of leather tipped with iron tore across flesh. It was like a snake striking pray over and over and over again.

Even the passing thought made him sick to his stomach, made his wrists ache where there had been bindings holding his hands at the small of his back.

Erik bounded up the embankment and took Corinna by the arm. "We need to leave. Now."


	40. Destruction and Renewal

Sensuality warning.

Noir

The oil lamp on the vanity sputtered and hissed as the last of the fuel burned away. Within minutes the room would go dark. There would be no Phantom and no Goddess, only a man and a woman together in the night.

The Goddess listened to his harsh breaths. Erik sat rigid on the floor with his head turned to the side. He became a statue beneath The Goddess as she sighed against his face. Her lips brushed against the corner of his mouth as her hands slid up his chest to his neck.

"I am your past, your present, and your future," she whispered. "I am your dark Goddess, your wish and your despair."

He would not refuse her. The Goddess knew her control over him was infinite. He had fallen, an angel without wings plummeting to the deepest, darkest hole in the earth.

"I can destroy you," The Goddess said to him. Her tongue flicked out and tasted his lips. "You are a slave to me, a creature lacking power, lacking strength. You are nothing to my eyes."

He nodded slowly and stared at the floor. The Goddess stroked the mask covering the right side of his face and watched as his eyes closed. She felt his thigh tense between her legs, a reaction built on want and warning. The Goddess braced herself against him as she rested her hand on his inner thigh. She exhaled against the cool leather surface as she felt his undeniable interest in her against her knuckles.

"Impressive," she whispered as she traced the outer edge of the mask with her index finger. "I will know what hides beneath. Will you deny me?"

"I came for your voice," he whispered. She felt him squirm beneath her.

"You heard me sing. Now it is my turn to have what I desire." The Goddess left her hands between his legs and felt him move against her feathery caress. She knew his control waned, the concrete barriers suddenly filled with spidery cracks. He would give into her. He would crawl upon his knees before her and beg for mercy and fulfillment.

"Has any woman ever had the strength to touch you?"

He gasped at her touch. She knew her persistence created an overwhelming coil of pleasure. For a moment he sat very still and held his breath, waiting for what he had deprived himself of for so long.

The Goddess knew no woman would have him. On the night he first came to her, she had seen the girls walking the street backing away from him and the bone white death's head. They had made the sign of the cross and cursed at him. No matter how much he could pay for an evening none would accept his offer. Even street whores had standards.

But he had not offered any of them his money. He had come to her as she sat in the window and watched men with downcast eyes walk beside women who pretended to be proud. She had known he would come to her.

She had always known his feelings for her.

The Goddess pulled her hand away before his built-up desire could be released into fulfillment. With a jolt he exhaled and turned away, humiliated by his need. She had given him a taste of what pleasures he had never known.

"You have no self-control," she mocked.

Erik made no reply. He only pulled farther away from the soft fingers that traced the bruises on his neck. "Don't touch me," he pleaded.

"Words from you mean nothing to me. Look at me," she demanded. He obeyed without hesitation. "How else can I destroy you?"

His gaze turned away from hers but she forced his chin up. Understanding flickered in his eyes.

"How much farther can you fall from the human race? Answer me."

"I'm not part of the human race."

"What are you?"

"I don't know."

The Goddess narrowed her painted eyes. "If I ask something of you, would you do it?"

Erik hesitated. His lips parted, mouth trembling as he considered his answer. With great reluctance he nodded.

"Anything?" The Goddess asked.

"Yes," he exhaled.

The Goddess ran her tongue along the right side of his neck, the side of his throat that had not been bruised. "Tell me, are you still a Catholic?"

Erik hesitated, looked away then slowly nodded.

"What sort of God-fearing man comes to a whore?"

"You're…you're not that to me."

"Not what?"

He shook his head.

"Say it," she demanded.

"You're not…a…you're not a woman of the night."

The Goddess snickered and narrowed her black eyes. "You cannot even bring yourself to say it, can you?" She studied him carefully, watching as he struggled to find something to focus on while he waited in silence.

"If I require self-murder you will spend an eternity in Hell. Is that what you want?"

He made no reply. He sat perfectly still, his eyes turning glassy.

The Goddess raised her hand as though she would strike him. "Is that what you want?"

"No."

"Because you fear death or because you fear the severity of your penance?"

He hesitated. "Do you want me to kill myself? Is that what you ask of me, Goddess?" his voice came out trembling, melding an indiscernible mixture of fear and frustration.

"It doesn't matter. Your sniveling words spoil my fun. Your life means nothing to me. Do you think, after all you have done, you will ever find forgiveness, Phantom? Have you done anything to redeem yourself from an eternity of burning in Hell?"

Erik shuddered. She saw his jaw tighten and knew he feared death, feared time without end and infinite suffering.

"You know my past," he muttered. "There is nothing for me but damnation."

"And what about life?"

"This isn't life," he breathed.

"Then what is there in store for you?"

He shook his head again.

"There is more than one option, more than one answer. You of all people know that Fate was not one destiny but a set of fickle twins. Now look at me when I speak to you or I shall dismiss you into the streets like the refuse you are. Do you trust me?" The Goddess asked.

His eyes searched her face for only a heartbeat. "Yes," he answered.

The Goddess smiled at his lack of hesitation. "Good. Because I know the two paths of your future, and I will pick the one I deem fitting for a wretch like you."

Erik looked at The Goddess again, his eyes widening. She saw him swallow hard and force a nod. He was a willing listener who would do anything she asked of him. He had no choice, no spirit.

The Goddess rose to her feet and walked away from him. "I tire of this place. Stand."

She folded her arms and watched as Erik struggled to his feet. He wrung his hands and looked away from her. The oil lamp gave one final hiss and the room darkened, making The Goddess acutely aware of his harsh breaths.

The Goddess and The Phantom became shadows, one a dark form gliding in the night, one a reluctant sentinel standing before a deity. The Goddess found his shoulder first, then his bruised neck, which caused his body to tense when she touched his tender flesh. With a ragged breath he attempted to protest her hand sliding around his back.

"Trust me," she hissed. "Or I will choose the path you fear."

His arms dropped to his sides though he remained a rigid shadow before her eyes. The Goddess stepped nearer and placed one hand against the right side of his face, the other on the left side. She heard him utter a soft prayer, a plea to a force he still believed in after all his years. It surprised her to hear him ask for mercy.

The Goddess closed her eyes in the darkness for a moment, loving yet dreading the way in which she would kill him. He was prepared, she knew, for this inevitable act of cruelty and compassion. It was why he had come to her. He wanted her to know him.

Her eyes opened in the blackness, eyelashes batting the collection of tears away. It was not as dark as it had first seemed. She could see the stark white of his maskand the unshaven, exposed side of his face. Silently he had begun to weep, and the first of many tears streaked down the left side of his face, following the curve of his nostril down to his lip where it hung at the corner, trembling with his harsh breaths.

The Goddess braced herself. She held her breath as her fingers clung to the edges and pulled the mask away.

The moment the mask was removed, Erik began to turn away and cover his face but The Goddess stopped him. If he had wanted to pull free of her he could have. He could have overpowered her at any point, but he did not. He was an obedient, fearful servant.

He would not harm her, she knew. Someplace deep inside, hidden in a cavern filled with wickedness, there was still compassion within him. The man who had lived fifteen years ago still existed, still hid behind the man he had become—or who he had attempted to be.

"Trust me," she said again.

Her hand rested on his monstrous face, over the ravaged plane he had kept hidden. His jaw tightened, his green eyes turning wild with fear. The Goddess stepped in closer still until their bodies met, until she felt the rise and fall of his chest through her clothing.

Her fingertips moved down his jaw line, tracing the scarred flesh. His right eye appeared larger than the left, the skin beneath his lower lashes slightly ridged like a candle where the wax has melted and dried into lumps.

While her eyes remained locked on his she touched his brow, seeing him silently plead her to stop. No one had touched the scars. No one had come near him. He wanted acceptance but feared closeness, feared rejection that came with his appearance.

"Does it hurt when I touch your face?" she asked, her voice strong, fearless.

He hesitated then lightly shook his head. The Goddess narrowed her eyes, searching his face still. Around his nose the skin felt thinner, stretched tighter. When she touched him he winced but said nothing, fearing protest would lead to solitude.

"Do you give in to me freely?"

"Yes."

"You do so knowing that if I will it, you shall die?"

"Yes."

"You sacrifice yourself to me?"

His tears flowed freely, leaving glistening wet tracks on his ruined and acceptable flesh.

"Do you sacrifice yourself to me? Answer me at once or you shall leave my dark kingdom, you filthy wretch."

"I will do anything. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me now." He sobbed and spoke her name, her given name. "Not now."

He started to kneel before her but The Goddess took his arm and kept him from falling at her feet. "I demand a sacrifice, not groveling. You needn't beg me for forgiveness."

"I apologize," he said, his head bowed until his chin touched his chest. "For what I did to you long ago, I apologize. I wish I had done more for you. I wish…"

Gingerly Erik reached out and grasped her thin shoulder, seeming surprised when she didn't pull away. He exhaled as she stepped nearer and placed his free hand against her hip. Almost immediately he locked his arms around her waist with such force that The Goddess could barely breath. She felt his body tremor and knew it had been the first time in too many years that someone had touched him, had held him the way he needed to be held, to be accepted. He apologized for his actions and loosened his grip on her, avoiding her eye, fearful of retribution, afraid she would abandon him.

He had lost more weight than she had first realized. Holding him was like embracing a skeleton. He had punished himself severely for what had happened within the opera house, for the obsession that had clouded his mind, for the needs that had replaced a young girl in India.

The Goddess had seen Christine Daae. She had found similarities between the talented singer and the half-Indian, half-European girl who had loved him long ago. It was a compliment, The Goddess mused, a strange tribute to the young woman he would never see again.

"I didn't know what to do until I saw you," he said quietly. "I didn't know where to go until I saw you in the window."

The Goddess bit down hard on her bottom lip, creating a new pain to dull the one she felt for him. He was lost, in every way a man could find himself unraveled—physically, emotionally, mentally he was bruised, maimed, tormented beyond her comprehension.

He had only existed in memory and secret desires, in little fragments of dreams and regrets. For years there had been no trace of Erik. He was only a name, a whispered entity, a frightful creature. He had disappeared from the world.

The Goddess stepped in closer and closed her eyes. "There is a difference between the world causing pain and creating your own suffering," The Goddess said as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her hand remained against his face and she felt him nod. His grip on her loosened until his hands merely rested on her sides.

"The difference is in your heart and mind. Both are still strong. You have faded only in your presence within the world. You did not exist to me."

"Please—"

The Goddess pressed her fingers to his lips. "As a Phantom you did not exist to me. But I see you as clearly as I did those days by the Hughli River. The man who spared the life of an animal, a man who protected a silly child and sang to her in a flower, does he still exist?"

He nodded but didn't speak.

"I never knew the Phantom," she said. "I knew Erik, and I want to see him again. Come with me," she said as she took his hand. "It is time I took you home."

"Home?"

"You are not the only master of deception." She turned away from him a moment and smiled to herself. A dream could be rebuilt, a man resurrected. "This is not the home of a Goddess, Erik. I deserve a palace." She gave a wan smile.


	41. Footprints

Noir41

Two men shouted and waved their arms on the bank of the Hughli River, gaining Ravi Patel's attention.

"We found him," one of the men explained. "Half-hour ago. He's already dead."

"Dead?" Ravi questioned as he marched forward.

The two men stood with their hands on their hips, proudly waiting to show their temporary employer the body they had found dragged from the river. To keep flies away they had covered the corpse in a blanket.

Ravi squatted down and drew back the blanket. He squinted at the face a moment before looking up. "This isn't him."

Both men exchanged glances. "Are you certain?" one man asked.

Ravi nodded. He glanced around. "Which direction did you two come from?"

The men pointed to the right. "We just came across the body a little white ago."

Ignoring them, Ravi climbed to his feet and parted the grass to examine the mud below. He held out his hand to a footprint and swallowed. It was small, slim and perfectly suited for a woman. Beside the dainty footprints were larger ones, scattered as though the owner of the marks had walked around in circles, deciding which way to travel.

"Find me a dozen men and send them East. Have them armed, on horseback if you can find the animals."

Before the men could answer Ravi was gone, knowing that the footprints belonged to either Corinna or Anisha. Whoever it was would lead him to Erik. The European was a fool not to cover his tracks.

In time, he would pay dearly for his mistakes.

-0-

"Where are we going?" Corinna asked breathlessly as she attempted to keep up with Erik. Their stomachs were empty, their throats parched. Each step forward was becoming increasingly difficult.

Erik turned and saw Corinna brush stray hairs out of her eyes as she followed him down a hillside, clinging to his hand. Her titian skin was damp with sweat, her nostrils flared as she breathed. The midday temperatures made their brisk walk uncomfortable, the air thick with humidity making breathing difficult. At the most they could keep up their pace for another hour before they were exhausted and in danger of becoming ill.

"Do you know where we're going?" Corinna asked again.

Erik released her and turned in a full circle, surveying their surroundings, fearing they were being followed. He made no reply but grabbed her hand again and pulled her behind him.

They had spent three hours trudging through the fields, startling workers as they headed further and further away from Chandernagore. Erik had no idea where they were heading. He wasn't even certain they were heading away from the French settlement.

"Wait! Please wait!" Corinna begged. "I can't walk anymore. Not without resting. Just a moment, Erik, please."

Her pleading drew him to a halt and he released her arm, panting beneath the midday sun. His stomach growled and his throat was dry, hands cut from brushing the tall grass aside to make a path. The only thing he knew for certain was that they couldn't return to the Inn. He didn't know why but he was certain that they couldn't return, not without something terrible waiting for them.

"When are you expecting your father?" Erik asked between gulps of air.

"I'm not certain."

He exhaled hard and ran his shirt cuff over his forehead. "Did he leave you enough funds to leave India?"

"I'm…I'm not certain," she answered, shielding her eyes from the sun. "I could send him a message."

"No, it would take too long," Erik muttered beneath his breath. He scanned the horizon again, this time seeing movement along a distant pathway they had crossed. His first instinct was to crouch belly-down in the grass but the figure waved and shouted.

"It's Ursula," Corinna said. She smiled, relieved to see her companion.

Erik continued to search the trees and underbrush, fearing Ursula had been followed. He heard her shouting in Hindi and turned to Corinna for answers.

"She said there are men looking for you," Corinna said before trotting forward to meet Ursula.

"Men?" he asked anxiously. "Who? What men? What do they want?"

Corinna and Ursula exchanged words briefly while Erik lingered behind, shifting his weight as he continued to look around.

"She wants to know where Anisha is," Corinna said to Erik.

Erik shook his head. "I saw her last night."

"Last night?" Corinna questioned.

"I retrieved my drawings and she found me in the parlor. We only spoke briefly."

Ursula said something quickly to which Corinna nodded and raised her hand to tell her to stop. The two continued on, gesturing to one another as they pointed toward the path where Ursula had walked to find them.

"They think you've kidnapped her," Corinna said at last.

Erik blanched. "Who is saying this? How does she know this?"

"She overheard during breakfast with Lilian."

"Lilian? She's safe then?"

Corinna nodded and Erik sighed, finding a scrap of good news amongst the terror filling his mind. He muttered something under his breath before turning his attention back to Corinna.

"Three men were talking about you. They are apparently working for my uncle…or more likely my cousin." Corinna paused to listen to Ursula again. "My uncle and Mr. Baleeze are returning, but we don't know when. They're looking for you and Anisha." Again Ursula added something more. "And for the two of us."

"Did they know about Joseph?"

Corinna asked Ursula, whose jaw dropped at Corinna's words. She held her hand over her heart and stepped back, which answered Erik's question clearly enough.

"She had no idea and the men didn't mention him at all."

They didn't know, Erik thought. But when they found Joseph's body washed up on the shore…

The first thing he thought of was attempting to strangle the Dutchman after the incident with the tigers, then how he had nearly suffocated Joseph after he attacked Anisha. If Ravi knew of both incidences Erik guessed from their prospective he looked like a raving madman, who was now accused of kidnapping a promised bride.

Ursula started speaking before Corinna finished informing Erik of all that had been said.

When Corinna looked at Erik again her face was contorted, her eyes pained when she gazed at him.

"The shah is paying gold for you to be returned. I don't know what that means," Corinna said.

Erik took several steps away until his back touched a tree. He exhaled hard and shook his head knowing everything he feared was suddenly bearing down on him. It wasn't safe for him to remain in India, but he feared greatly for Corinna and Ursula and what would happen to them once he was found.

"We need to leave. At once. What's the closest town?"

Corinna turned to Ursula briefly before she looked to Erik and shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've never been here before."

Erik turned away, fists clenched as he swore under his breath. In frustration he placed both hands atop his head and searched for something to kick. Each second that passed was another step closer to torture and execution.

"They don't know what you look like," Corinna said. "Dark hair and light eyes. That's all they know of you. It matches the description of half the Europeans in Chandernagore."

Erik turned and nodded, finding hope in her words. Ursula spoke again but this time Corinna did not reply. When he saw Corinna's face again his hope dripped away. There was something more.

Corinna bowed her head, wringing her hands together. "They know about the scars."

Erik's eyes flickered toward Ursula, who looked away. His breath became lodged in his throat, the hairs at the back of his neck pricking in dread. A warm trickle ran down his back beneath his shirt, finding a path over old scars.

"She's coming," Erik said under his breath. "She's coming for me."


	42. Letting Go

Noir42

Erik stumbled away from Corinna and Ursula, his eyes trained on the uneven ground. Always he had known it would come to this, that she would find him and execute him. The last few days in Chandernagore were less troublesome. He was not plagued with glancing over his shoulder or wondering if an assassin waited around the corner.

He was with Corinna and she lightened his heart, parted the constant veil of dread he had felt looming over himself.

She had not moved from her place beside Ursula. Erik glanced at her and saw her standing very still as though she were planted in the earth.

"I don't want them to hurt you," he said under his breath as he sat beneath a tree and drew his legs up to his chest.

Corinna and Ursula were his main concerns. His life was forfeit. It was an idea he didn't want to grasp but the outcome was inevitable. Erik felt himself in the midst of a trap, surrounded on all sides by invisible threats.

"You must leave," Erik said evenly, finding his voice and the strength to speak.

Corinna sat beside him and shook her head. "Once my cousin sees Anisha is not with us everything will be fine. He'll look for her on his own, Ursula and I will tell him we haven't seen her—"

"No, no you can't be here. Not when they come. You can't stay here," he urged.

She was frightened, he knew. Erik looked at her once and saw the tension on her face, the uncertainty in her eyes.

"You promised my father—"

"To protect you."

"To stay with me."

He hesitated, running his hand down his face. There was danger in sending her off alone but she stood a better chance returning to the Inn by herself than with him. If the Little Sultana found Corinna she would not leave with her life. It was the price she would pay for being in his stead.

"What funds are left?" Erik asked. "From what your father gave you, how much is left?"

"I—I don't know."

"Enough to leave India? Enough for you and Ursula to return to London?"

It was her turn to hesitate, to look into his eyes and have no answers. "There should be enough for the three of us to travel to London...or Paris. Wherever we need to travel, perhaps New York, even."

"I've never been there," he answered absently, pulling a handful of grass from the dirt. He tossed it aside and did the same thing again and again until Corinna grabbed his wrist.

His eyes met hers and he frowned. "You cannot stay here. Take whatever funds remain, send word to your father, and return to London. Go."

"What about you? Where will you be?"

Erik shook his hand loose and stuck his fist into the grass. The pessimist within wanted to answer 'dead' though the optimist he couldn't deny thought 'several days behind you'.

"Erik, where will you be?" Corinna asked, her voice trembling.

He climbed to his feet and helped Corinna to hers. Once she stood he took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. "You must return to the settlement before the sun sets, do you understand me? Take my drawings, take what clothes you need, and head toward London. When you arrive wait for your father. Sell the building plans if your father finds a buyer."

"You're speaking madness," Corinna whispered. "We can't leave without you. It's not safe."

"It's safer than if you stayed here and waited."

"Waited? Waited for what?"

Erik sighed and released her arms. He glanced around again, his nerves playing tricks on him. Each brush of the wind through the grass made him think there was someone around him.

"Why is the sultan looking for you?" she asked.

Her question surprised him but he nodded, knowing he needed to tell her something.

"A palace," he answered. "I designed a palace for the sultan and his wives. His favorite wife, the Little Sultana, wanted something more." His face darkened and he took a deep breath. "I destroyed the plans. I disobeyed."

Erik couldn't bring himself to further elaborate regarding what else had happened with the Little Sultana. He was ashamed of what had happened the night he thought she poisoned him.

A weak smile touched the corners of his lips as he attempted to quell Corinna's fears. "It will be better if we go separate ways," he said gently. "When it has passed I will find you in London."

"Erik, please."

He clasped her hands in his and felt his stomach churn, knowing this would be the last moment he saw her.

"Sell my work. Tell your father to keep the funds he receives from the buyer. When you arrive in London send word to the Levesque House north of Paris. When I return…" He knew he would never see the note, the old home where his mother perhaps lived or perhaps had sold. It made it difficult to speak knowing it was all unnecessary. "When I return I will find you in London."

Corinna shook her head. "We'll go to Paris."

"No," he said sharply before she could finish. "London. Return home."

"How long?" she asked, her voice strained, her lips dragged down by the weight of her fears. "How long should we wait?"

"Two months," he said. It was the first thing that came to mind. "If you don't receive word in two months…I'll have crossed the ocean. New York," he said. His heart felt black, charred by the lies he spoke to her. When he looked into Corinna's eyes he knew she didn't believe him but still he said the words, the words neither of them thought of as truth.

"And your earnings? What would you have with your earnings?"

"Keep it," Erik answered quickly, knowing she was stalling. He looked only at her face, memorizing the length of her eyelashes and the gentle curve of her almond-shaped eyes, the fullness of her lips and the soft slope of her nose. "Until I return…I…I want you to keep it."

She was doing everything she could not to cry, not to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to stay. He watched her struggle to keep her composure and hoped she would not ask to remain with him. His strength was diminished and he knew he could not deny her. He wanted Corinna with him no matter what.

And that was why he had to ask her to leave.

"Don't follow the pathway Ursula used," he urged as he led her back toward the sound of the river. "Walk along the river and return to Chandernagore. Empty your room but leave mine untouched save for the artwork. Will you do this for me?"

Corinna nodded reluctantly.

"You and Ursula must be very cautious. The faster you take leave from here the better."

"Send word to the Levesque House?" she repeated.

"At the worst you may send something to the DeChantel Estate. I intend to send my condolences to them when I return to France."

Corinna nodded. She gripped Erik's forearm and steadied herself. "I will wait for you," she said.

His heart sank. "Two months," he corrected her. "Wait two months. Now go. Make haste."

Corinna dragged her feet as she and Ursula made their way toward the lazy river. He stood atop the highest hill he could find and shielded his eyes with his hand again. His stomach knotted as he watched them trudge away, weaving past rocks and negotiating the curves that followed the river.

Somewhere deep inside he wanted to weep for falling in love with her. Seeing her leave knifed through him, but at the same time he felt serene. The calm before the storm, he mused, the last moment of peace before the end.

He turned and saw a man appear at the bottom of the hill, pistol raised. Erik raised his hands, showing he was disarmed.

Within moments three other men appeared from the brush. Erik glanced back one last time at the river and saw Ursula and Corinna's distant forms. Through the commotion that surrounded him he heard Corinna screaming.

That was how he would remember her. Screaming for him to come with her.


	43. Captured

Noir43

The sun was low and red in the sky by the time Ursula and Corinna returned to Chandernagore. Exhausted and filthy after hours of walking, they clung to one another as they reached the Inn and climbed the stairs to their room.

"How did you find us?" Corinna asked blankly as she dipped her hands into a wash basin and scrubbed her face. She was still trembling, her thoughts haunted by what she had seen. There must have been two dozen men who surrounded Erik, some on foot and some on horseback. For a long while she waited for a rifle to fire and was surprised when there was no gunshot.

She wasn't sure if that gave her hope or not, as Ursula had swiftly dragged her away.

"The boy told me you had ridden the elephant out to the fields," Ursula explained. "I ran as fast as I could."

"What do you think they will do with him?" Corinna asked as she patted her face dry and looked in the mirror. She was nowhere near clean, but aside from dirt she still didn't recognize herself in the mirror. There were circles beneath her eyes and bug bites on her cheeks and neck.

"I don't know," Ursula answered.

Corinna couldn't bear to look at her companion. "They're going to kill him, aren't they?"

"When they know the truth—"

"It doesn't matter. If they're looking for Anisha, if they're looking for her and she isn't found, they're….we can't leave him, Ursula. We cannot abandon him."

"Corinna, we cannot go back for him. Do you have any idea what some men would do to a young girl like you?"

She knew her companion was correct but it didn't lessen the pain she felt twisting in her stomach. "We just leave him for dead, then? Is that what you suggest?"

"I suggest we wait for your father. He will know what is best."

Corinna made no reply. She walked in a daze to the front desk, requested a key to Erik's room, and forced herself up the stairs again.

With Ursula behind her Corinna unlocked Erik's door and walked into the room. Absently she touched her shoulder where Erik had rested his chin against her as the rode the elephant.

Her fears became real. He wasn't here, wasn't in his room where he should have been spending his evening working.

The opera, she thought. They would have been going to the opera. Her grief resurfaced, fast and sharp through her insides. They had left him in a field and walked away as he was surrounded.

Corinna held her breath as she glanced around, finding the tubes of his artwork in the corner. It felt strange to be near his personal belongings. She glanced behind at Ursula and half-expected to see Erik climbing the stairs, asking what they were doing in his room.

Corinna took a deep breath and walked to the drawings, scooping them into her arms. She cradled them a moment, smelling the distinct scent of leather.

"Do you think he…?" Her voice betrayed her swiftly. She closed her eyes and held back the tears.

"We should go," Ursula answered. "We'll send a message to your father and wait."

"I don't want to leave."

"Neither do I, but if we are still able to walk free then we may still be able to help him," Ursula said hopefully.

"Why would you help him?" Corinna asked, her voice weaker than before. She covered her mouth to keep from sobbing and pressed her eyes shut.

"I do not have Mr. Levesque, Corinna. He did exactly as your father asked and protected you, and in sparing your life he may have given his own." She stopped when Corinna broke down, leaning against the wall to keep from crumbling to the ground.

"We don't yet know what happened," Ursula continued. "Let's hope for the best and leave here at once. Your father will know what to do."

Corinna started to turn and leave the room when something on the dresser top caught her eye. Still holding the drawings, she walked to the dresser and plucked the cufflinks from the dresser top.

They were the skull cufflinks he had worn in Dareesh the night Anisha and Girish were engaged. She recalled telling him how morbid they seemed and how he had grinned back at her.

A ragged breath left her lips, sending a tremor through her body that made her legs tremble. She held them to her lips and kissed them softly, vowing to return them to Erik when she saw him again.

"Corinna, we must go," Ursula instructed.

With a nod, Corinna opened one of the portfolios and slipped the cufflinks inside before she turned to Ursula. Clutching the drawings, she walked from the room feeling colder and more alone than she had ever felt in her life.

-o-

After they returned to their own room they heard a commotion in the common area. Corinna started toward the door but Ursula blocked her path.

"Just wait," she instructed.

Within moments they heard Erik's door open again and harsh voices muffled through the wall. The sound of furniture scraping against the floors made Corinna step back from the door and glance at Ursula.

"You said he was here," a woman said.

"Yes, Miss, I thought he was in his room. I heard him a moment ago."

"Where are they? His drawings should be here some place."

"I don't know, miss. All of his belongings are in this room."

The woman gave an exaggerated sigh. "I came here because you said he was in his room and now he is gone. You, leave. You, turn the mattress over, open every piece of luggage. He has my drawings. Find them and bring them to me at once."

Before Ursula could stop her, Corinna opened the door and peered out. Her gaze was met by a hard-eyed woman beneath a black veil. Though she could only see the woman's jade eyes, Corinna felt herself shudder.

They stared at one another a moment before the woman tore down the stairs, closely followed by two men who appeared of Persian descent.

"Find Mr. Baleeze. His fiancée's cousin should be around here somewhere," the woman growled. "His name is Mr. Patel. Find him and bring him to me!"

Ursula dragged Corinna back into the room and shut the door. "Foolish girl!"

"She's looking for him. That woman is looking for Erik. If she finds Ravi—"

"I know," Ursula answered as she held Corinna tightly. "By the looks of her I would assume her husband is the Sultan."

-0-

Sanjeev Desai sat up suddenly and gazed out the carriage window. The sun was setting but even in darkness he knew where they were. He forced a weak smile as the carriage slowed and rounded the corner. Within minutes the Inn would come into sight.

Ari Nadir twisted from side to side on the other side of the carriage. "We are not alone," he commented as he gazed out the opposite side. "Black carriages and black horses. She is here."

His words made Sanjeev shudder. _She_ was the Sultana. Sanjeev leaned to the side and saw the carriages waiting one after another, all bearing the mark of a hawk with wings spread and beak agape. In the talons was a smaller bird.

"We're too late," Sanjeev muttered into his hand.

"We should stay here a moment," Ari suggested. "Examine our surroundings, be certain that we are the ones watching rather than the ones being observed."

Sanjeev nodded reluctantly. He peered out of the carriage again and examined the windows of the rooms overhead. There was movement beyond the curtains in the middle room on the second floor.

"There," Ari said quietly. "She is with Mr. Baleeze."

Sanjeev followed his friend's gaze to the lead carriage being pulled by a pair of Lipizzan horses. Ari opened the carriage door enough for sound to travel through.

"She's not here," the Sultana said. "But we have him captured."

"You may do whatever you wish with him. My only concern is Anisha."

"It would be wise of you to accompany me," the Sultana replied.

The driver helped the Sultana in and closed the door once Girish followed her inside. Within seconds the carriage pulled away and the two trailing behind followed in its dusty wake, all filled with armed men serving the Sultan.

The two men sat in silence for a moment as the carriages barreled out of sight.

"We're too late," Ari murmured.

Sanjeev only nodded, unsure of his only daughter's fate. "We must follow them. We must find my daughter."

-0-

The last thing Erik remembered was the barrel of a rifle against his forehead. He remembered feeling strangely at ease, almost wishing the hammer to draw back and the bullet to exit the muzzle.

When he woke in the dark, head pounding and mouth dry, he dreaded the sensations that indicated he was still alive. Living meant suffering, and now he had no doubt he would suffer.

His body rocked back and forth, head tossed side to side. His eyes were open but the world was still dark as night. Blindfolded, he realized as he attempted to move. His hands were behind his back, ankles bound together. The manacles were tight, the iron chains heavy and cumbersome, digging into his flesh.

Without thinking he groaned.

"Awake again," a voice called.

Ravi.

An image popped into Erik's mind of Ravi standing before him, facing away from the sun so that his features were obscured and the sunset blazed, red as blood behind him. He remembered being on his knees when the men appeared from the brush and surrounded him. He remembered his head being held back by the hair and the gun between his eyes and then…

The pain to his skull centered on the right side just above his hairline. Something blunt had knocked him out, had split the skin into a bloody knot lost in his dark hair. He took a deep breath and caught the scent of copper and salt. Blood. His blood in the air.

"Where is she?" Erik asked hoarsely.

"That is what I have been wondering," Ravi replied. "Where is my cousin?"

"Corinna?"

Ravi snorted. "No one in my family cares what happens to her. She may as well be a stray dog at our feet. Where is Anisha?"

Erik gave no reply. Anger boiled within him, fumed by Ravi's insult. If he had been able to move he would have made Ravi pay for his words.

"You have one last chance to answer me," Ravi threatened.

"I'll have a thousand chances," Erik answered, spitting blood. "You will not kill me. You can't. She won't permit it."

This time Ravi was silent, causing Erik's anxiety to escalate. He struggled to sit upright again but stopped once his thrashing about made him sick to his stomach.

"Where is she, Ravi? Where is the Sultana?" he asked.

Ravi sat in silence, but the answer Erik received sent a violent tingle up his spine.

"I am here, Erik," she replied.

And with her voice the world left Erik once again.


	44. Closer

Doubled-up chapter. At the break it switches to 1870.

Noir44

Ari Nadir and Sanjeev Desai were about to tell their driver to follow the Persian carriages when Sanjeev spotted his daughter in the window. Without a word to his companion he threw the door open and raced up the steps of the Inn, shouting for his daughter as he ran to the second floor.

Ursula appeared in the doorway, her usually straight face weary, her body bent and tired.

"She is very upset," Ursula said as she stepped aside for Mr. Desai to enter.

One look at his daughter and he could have guessed what had happened.

"Are you harmed?" he asked.

Corinna shook her head. She looked away from her father and bowed her head. "Anisha has left."

"I received word that she had been kidnapped," Mr. Desai said.

Corinna shook her head. "She has left," she repeated. "And now he will die."

"What has happened here?" her father questioned.

She collapsed in his arms, sobbing at first and nearly screaming at the end as she told him everything she knew. She could barely catch her breath as she continued begging her father to do something, anything for Mr. Levesque.

"Mr. Nadir is here with me. We will do everything we can to find him."

"I will go with you," Corinna replied. She scanned the room until her eyes fixed on the tubes of drawings. "I must go with you."

"My dear, I will not allow it. You will return to London with Ursula at once."

"I can't leave him," she protested through her tears.

"Corinna, my word is final. You will go back to London at once and wait for me there."

His daughter stared back, her eyes filled with tears. She nodded slowly knowing there was nothing she could do. She turned and wobbled away, collapsing at the end of the bed where she folded her arms and began to cry anew.

"I love him," she managed to say. "I love him."

Three days passed and Erik survived on nothing more than water. Bound at the wrists and ankles, he was kept under constant surveillance by the Sultana's guards while they escorted him westward across India.

"Shame, shame, shame," the Sultana said as she gazed at him.

She sat perched across from him in the carriage, her body leaning to one side. Erik sensed her satisfaction in the words but said nothing. There was little he could do to ease the suffering he knew would come in the days ahead.

"You have disappointed me, Frenchman," she said as she tilted her head back and gazed at the ceiling. "I looked forward to killing you months ago and you haven't put up much of a fight. Tell me, where is your spirit?"

Erik made no reply. He stared at the empty space in the carriage, his eyes heavy, his mind unable to focus on anything other than pain. The Sultana had put forth orders that he was not to sleep. Every hour of the day someone stood over him and kept him from dozing long. Everything around him felt stretched, slowed down to a miserable pace.

"Have you lost your tongue?" the Sultana questioned.

Erik's eyes rolled back, exhaustion overpowering his senses. His head bobbed forward and touched his chest but he made no attempt to right himself. The first stage of torture seemed worse than the flogging he had endured in Persia. At least he knew when the flogging would end. Sleep deprivation could go on for many more days, weeks even, he realized.

The Sultana turned to her guard and nodded before rapping on the carriage window. Within moments the driver slowed the horses and the carriage came to a stop.

"Teach him a lesson," the Sultana said to her guard. "He has clearly forgotten that I do not tolerate insolence."

* * *

**The Goddess 1870**

Erik replaced his mask while The Goddess donned her walking cloak. Once she was dressed she stopped and waited for him to offer his arm before they walked down the rickety, uneven staircase together.

The streets on the darkest side of Paris were rarely empty at night. Whores needed money and their johns needed satisfaction. They met early in the evening and hours before dawn, scurrying like rats down alleys to find places to mate.

The smell of refuse lingered in the air as they stepped onto the curb and followed the crumbling cobblestone path west, leaving the district where Erik had first seen The Goddess in her window.

"Where are we going?" he whispered as they entered an alley.

He held her close to him, protecting her from the eyes peering out from the shadows. The Goddess smiled inwardly at this gesture, at his possessive nature. Though firm, his grasp on her was not uncomfortable. She knew he was afraid to harm her, to bruise her in any way. He would do anything to please her.

Before morning, his wishes and hers would be fulfilled.

"You will see once we arrive," she answered enigmatically. "No more questions. I tire of it, Erik. You will do as I say when I say it. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes…Goddess," he answered with care.

No other words were exchanged as they disappeared into the night, walking through puddles, down narrow, unlit streets until they came to a desolate corner where a carriage and two horses waited.

Erik looked at her with uncertainty, nostrils flared, eyes begging for answers. He had stumbled several times in his exhaustion and appeared ready to sit a while. He was also still starving, as she had heard his stomach growl as they walked.

"Stay here," The Goddess instructed as she turned to leave Erik in the darkness.

He clung to her a moment longer, and she knew he was unsure of whether or not she would abandon him on the street and ride away. She felt his reluctance as she pried his hand away, one finger at a time.

"Only a moment," she assured him. Her eyes narrowed unexpectedly, her tone changing. "If I do not change my mind and leave you here."

The Goddess walked to the front of the carriage and peered up at the waiting driver draped in a black cloak.

"Have you found him?" the man asked.

She nodded. "He came to me just as I expected. He looks worse than you said, though. Every time I see him he's thinner…falling faster, I suppose."

"I doubt he had much farther to fall," the man said under his breath.

"Yes, I know. I see it in his eyes."

The man was silent a moment. Eventually The Goddess saw him nod solemnly. She knew he was reluctant to aid her in this fruitless search. He had told her weeks ago that her quest was in vain, that sometimes people cannot be saved no matter what. He didn't understand why she wanted him back.

"Have you made a decision?" he asked.

"As I see it, there was never a decision that needed to be made. I knew what I wanted and now I have it."

"Yes, Miss, but that was long ago. He has changed—"

"Outside, not inside. I still see the same man looking back at me."

The driver gave a disheartened sigh as he climbed down from his seat. "You don't know what I saw beneath the opera house, my dear. He is a dangerous man, an angry, lost man. Whatever you believe he was long ago…he has changed. You need to be very careful around him. His temper…"

"I will find Erik again," The Goddess assured him. "I will bring him back."

"Are you certain you can do this?" the man asked. "If you fail…"

The Goddess smiled. "I will not lose him," she said.

He hesitated, his lips twitching from a frown to a weak smile. "Does he know who you are?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't want to admit it," she answered. "And I don't want him to believe I still exist. It's…" she smiled wanly, choosing her words with care. "It's easier this way. For now."

Disappointment showed in his eyes but he agreed nonetheless. "Very well, my dear, I will respect your wishes."

The Goddess kissed her old friend on the cheek. "Thank you, Daroga. Thank you for finding him."

"I do it because I had great respect for your father, my dear." He paused and took her hands in his. "And because there would have been greater things at stake had I not agreed. I trust, my dear, I trust you will do what is right."

"Will you speak with the Chagny boy again?"

He shook his head. "He took the young lady and left. North, I think, where they met long ago. They should be wed by now. Why do you ask?"

"He had quite a scare. I wondered how he fared now." She grunted. "He was appalled when I said I was looking for the Phantom. The poor man."

"I doubt they will ever return here," the Daroga answered.

The Goddess nodded and turned away, finding satisfaction in his words. She had hoped Christine would leave Paris. It would be easier to find Erik and separate him from the Phantom if she was gone.

It would have been even easier had Christine never existed…

From the corner of her eye The Goddess could see Erik waiting for her still, wringing his hands and shifting from one foot to the next. He still had not put complete faith in her. The struggle was only beginning, she thought morosely. Fifteen years of solitude and grief needed to be undone. Perhaps Ari was correct. The days, months, years ahead would be difficult, but in the end she knew it would be worth it.

"I will take him home now. Do you remember the way?"

"Of course," the old man nodded. He took The Goddess by the arm one last time and looked into her dark eyes. "You are the only one capable of helping him," he said simply. "I have no doubt he understands that."

The Goddess retrieved Erik and led him into the carriage. She sat across from him, her eyes studying his posture, the visible side of his face and his distant gaze.

"When was the last time you bathed?" she asked.

He glanced at her a moment before lowering his eyes. "The night the chandelier fell," he answered.

The night he had stolen Christine from the stage, she thought. The night he expected to make her his bride. He had cleaned and prepared himself for her, for their wedding bed. The thought angered her but she didn't voice her jealousy.

"Tonight," she purred softly, catching his attention. "You will bathe again."


	45. Sweet Bitter

Noir46

The carriage traveled south from Paris throughout the remainder of the night. Erik dozed through the sunrise and the majority of morning as exhaustion, hunger, and the several weeks of hiding from authorities had taken their toll on him.

He slept soundly as the horses trudged on and the movement of the carriage lulled him into a deep sleep. With his mask removed and head propped up against the red velvet interior, he was oblivious to the landscape changing around him. All he needed was the woman sitting beside him.

Overwhelming hunger and a gentle caress finally roused him from sleep. He blinked and gazed at the darkened interior, finding The Goddess resting up against his side.

"Not much longer," she assured him as she tilted her head back and looked up into his eyes.

He nodded, forcing his eyes to remain open, unwilling to look away from her in fear she would disappear. He struggled to free his arm, which was pinned between his side and her head, so that he could sweep the strands of hair back from her face.

The moment he tucked the strand behind her ear he looked away, appalled by his brazen move. Had he been fully awake he never would have touched her without asking for permission. She was his Goddess in waking hours, though in dreams she was something more.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, ignoring his intimate gesture.

Erik nodded.

"I asked you a question. Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous," he answered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

The Goddess looked at him sharply, her eyes studying his wary gaze. Without breaking eye contact she bent forward and reached into a small bag at her feet. Erik thanked her softly as she handed him another piece of bread wrapped in a cloth.

"Small bites," she reminded him as she passed him a water canteen. Once he was situated she sat back against the opposite wall and sighed.

Erik glanced up. "Thank you," he said again.

The Goddess made no reply. She sat with a look of indifference on her face as she played with the end of her dark hair and watched him tear off a small piece.

While she watched, he consumed the bread loaf slowly, taking sips of water to keep the food soft and his teeth from shifting in his gums. As much as he attempted to make his food last, the bread was gone before his hunger was sated. When he finished The Goddess dug into her bag again.

"Your day will require energy," she said as she opened a small clay jar. Her eyes settled on his again. "If you wish to please me."

He watched with uncertainty as she gave an enigmatic smile in return.

"Do you wish to please me?" she asked.

"Yes." His mouth opened and closed and he swallowed hard. "Goddess."

"You do not wish to call me by my title any longer?" she asked, her eyes narrowed, mouth hardening as she sat back.

Erik shook his head, afraid he would lose her if he didn't retract his words. "No, I do."

"Then you will not hesitate when I speak to you, is that clear?"

He nodded again readily. "Yes, yes, Goddess."

"Very well. For now I shall forgive you." The Goddess offered her hand, showing him her knuckles.

For a moment Erik hesitated before bringing her hand to his lips. When she seemed satisfied she pulled her hand back and dipped her finger into the jar.

Taste," she whispered, holding her finger to his lips.

Erik hesitated, drawing his head back as his gaze switched from her face to her waiting hand.

"I said taste," The Goddess demanded.

Sticky sweetness touched his lips and slid down his tongue though taste was secondary to the surge he felt traveling through his body. He attempted to be as respectful as possible, taking hold of her wrist and licking honey from the end of her finger before turning away, his heart racing.

A thousand fragmented thoughts fought for his mind. He continued to hold her wrist as he stared at the opposite bench, his palms sweaty, his throat dry. A strange mix of desire and shame battled inside of him, wanting to continue and fearing it had gone too far already.

Without a word she pried his fingers away and dipped her index finger into the jar, tempting him again.

"Slowly," she purred, leaning in so close her face was only inches from his. "Very slowly."

His breathing increased as he turned his head and took her fingertip into his mouth and slowly sucked the sugary contents. His eyes slowly closed as he leaned into her, savoring the intimacy of her gesture, hearing her sigh as his tongue swirled around her finger.

When she pulled free his eyes opened again and she smiled at him, a closed-lipped seductive grin that hinted at her pleasure.

"It has been a long night," she said, her voice deep and alluring. "I have not had the pleasure of food."

The Goddess placed the jar high in his lap and sat back, stretching her legs out as she reclined.

"Please me," she said.

The Goddess watched as he fumbled with the jar, sinking a trembling finger into its contents. A thick trail of gold dripped down his finger, which he held impatiently over the jar before moving closer to her.

He swallowed hard, hinting at how desperately he wanted to feel her caress his finger with her lips and tongue.

Her lips parted languidly and his finger disappeared into her mouth, grazing past her teeth, taken in and nurtured by her warm, soft tongue. She released a barely audible sigh that voiced her satisfaction as she gently sucked on his finger.

Erik attempted to stifle a groan, the sensation unlike anything he had felt before. Everything about it was provocative, from the way her eyes fluttered back to the way her body shifted, hips sliding further toward him.

It seemed strange that he had come to a woman he believed a whore so many times but not once experienced the pleasures she offered. He wondered if she had tempted other customers the way she allowed him hints of pleasure that ignited his most primal desires.

The Goddess took Erik's wrist and slowly withdrew his finger from her mouth.

"More," she breathed. "I want more."

He obeyed at once, quickly dipping his finger into the jar and bringing it to her lips again. She worked her tongue up and down his index finger, starting at the tip and ending at the knuckle, gliding his finger in and out of her mouth, nipping him with her teeth and soothing him with lazy sucking motions.

Erik rose slightly from his seat, barely able to control his breathing. He was fascinated and aroused as The Goddess licked her lips and sighed again, finished with him for the time being.

Her gaze left his and centered on the jar resting in his lap. She leisurely reached for the jaw, her hand resting between his legs for a moment. Without intending to he pushed his hips forward, feeling her hands against the part of his body that had woken moments earlier, when she drank honey from his finger and wound his mind around thoughts he had thought long dead.

"Conserve your strength," she suggested as she closed the jar and placed it back into her bag. "You will need it for later."

-o-

Erik squirmed blindly on the ground, breathing in dirt and debris as he inched away on his belly. He could hear the footsteps around him, the shoes crunching over grass and stone as they circled around his bloody and bruised body.

"Do you want the blindfold removed?" he heard someone ask.

"No, not yet," the Sultana answered.

Erik pushed his tongue against his front teeth and tasted blood from the cut in his gums. He used what strength he had left to crawl forward, his efforts labored by his wrists and ankles still bound. A chain connected the manacles at his hands and feet prevented him from raising his hands to his eyes to remove the blindfold.

"Where do you think you will go, Frenchman?" the Sultana asked.

Erik felt her grab a handful of his hair and pull his head back. He stopped instantly, his fingers digging into the soil. Something cold and sharp touched his throat along the pulse, which instantly stopped him from taking another breath.

"Mr. Baleeze won't find his fiancée, will he?" she asked.

Erik gave no reply. He could feel the heat of her body as she knelt over him. He knew if he rolled swiftly to his side he could knock her off balance, though there was little he could do after that. It would give her something to remember him by, he thought cynically.

"It doesn't matter if they find the girl or not," the Sultana said.

Erik felt his body suddenly lifted from the ground by his legs and arms. He struggled a moment before his bruised back touched a hard, flat surface.

"Girish tells me his fiancée was very beautiful," the Sultana continued. "A true Indian princess by all appearances. Tell me, Frenchman, was that what attracted you to her?"

Erik said nothing. Melding with the scent of blood in the air there was something different, something that made his legs stiffen and his heart race.

"I cherish beauty as well, Frenchman," the Sultana said as she walked around him. "My husband purchases fine art from all corners of the world. Do you know what I told him? I told him one day I would like to be a painter."

Erik sucked on his teeth, the taste of blood adding to his growing sickness. His head pounded, muscles constantly throbbing. Beyond being outside, he had no idea where he was. He didn't even know how many of the Sultana's men had participated in his beating.

"Do you know what has prevented me from painting, Frenchman?" the Sultana asked. "Do you know what keeps me from my art?"

Something brushed past his swollen cheek, which made him flinch. The pungent, familiar smell grew nearer, and Erik suddenly took to fighting, writhing back and forth on the table in vain. The chains had grown tighter, his movement restricted completely.

"Until you, I never had a canvas."


	46. Steam

Sorry it took so long! Hope it was worth the wait.

Noir37

"Wait here," The Goddess instructed, her voice echoing through the open foyer.

Erik barely realized she had walked away. He was awestruck by the tall pillars and high ceiling, the smooth, shiny marble floor and paintings along the wall. He swallowed hard and turned in a full circle, his arms straight at his sides, his eyes soaking in each detail.

He had never been here before. Of that he was certain, yet it was familiar.

His mind wandered back to when the coach drove into the courtyard. He had not known the daroga was the driver until the Persian opened the door and helped The Goddess from her seat. The two men had stood and stared at one another for a moment, neither willing to make the first move.

"Remember the past," The Goddess said as she looked them both over. "Remember what men you were in the past and let there be no bad blood now."

At her command they shook hands. The last thing Ari Nadir said to Erik was, "Treat her well. She has sacrificed much for you."

The words caught Erik by surprise. He was still trying to decipher the cryptic statement when he heard a door open and shut again.

"This way," The Goddess called from the bottom of the stairs.

He turned at the sound of her voice and walked cautiously to meet her, his right hand skimming the cool railing of the stone stairway. If The Goddess would have allowed him a moment he would have liked to have seen the artwork along the left wall of the stairway, but her voice was commanding and her words could not be denied.

"I can smell you from here," she said under her breath. She glanced at him from over her shoulder as they walked up the stairs and turned down the hall. "You shall eat first and then bathe. Should you need a brief rest you may do so once you are clean."

"Yes, Goddess," Erik answered.

The smell of food wafting down the hall made Erik close his eyes and inhale the combination of breads and meats. The food in the carriage had done nothing to sate his hunger, and he looked forward to his first full belly in weeks.

"You shall dine alone," The Goddess informed him as they entered a long dining hall. There was an oak table with the leaves removed, though several chairs against the wall told that there was ample seating to accommodate a dozen guests.

Erik ignored the empty seats, his eyes drawn to silver trays of meats, cheeses, and fruits. He turned to question The Goddess and was met with solitude.

"Eat," he heard her say from a distance.

Hunger replaced all manners and within heartbeats he was seated at the table with a glass of wine and a plateful of food.

The Goddess returned moments after he pushed away from the table and sighed, his hunger gone at last. She said nothing as she walked toward him, her hands behind her back.

"Thank you," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"Come, you must bathe," she replied.

She waited until he rose from his chair before she looked him in the eye. "The water is warm," she said, her voice low. "So warm there is nary difference between pleasure and pain."

Erik merely stared, unsure of her words or what response she expected. When she lifted a brow and gave him a strange smile he held his breath, his uncertainty growing with each moment.

They walked side by side into a tile-floored bath where the air was hot and thick with humidity. The sharp, distinct smell of nutmeg and ginger greeted them as The Goddess moved to the center of the room and watched him in the mirror.

The first thing Erik noticed was the iron tub in the shape of a peacock. He had never seen anything like it before, with its faucet in the shape of the bird's head and the wide basin flaring upward to become the tail feathers. There was a stack of towels neatly folded beneath a table bearing glass bottles of scented oils, wash cloths, and soap. On the wall beside the tub were two robes, both beige in color and hanging within reach.

"Disrobe and enter the water," The Goddess commanded as she turned to leave. She handed him a woven basket. "Leave your garments in this basket. Touch nothing within this room."

She started to close the door but stopped and reached out one final time. "Your mask," she requested.

Erik turned away and removed the mask. He stared at the one article he had not gone without for fifteen years, his finger gripping tightly to the shaped leather covering. Though he had not worn it in the carriage, he had donned it again as they entered the courtyard and walked into the palazzo, unsure of whom he would see while inside.

Erik removed it and held it in both hands, cradling the leather warmed by his face.

"Give it to me," The Goddess demanded.

With great reluctance he turned and handed it to her, watching as she carelessly snatched it from his grasp.

"In this house you are not to wear this mask. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Goddess," he forced himself to answer.

The door clicked shut and Erik did as he was instructed, slowly removing his garments and placing them into the basket. He entered the water slowly, sucking in a breath between his teeth as the water turned from intolerable to relaxing.

When he was fully submerged he lay his head back and sighed, his muscles relaxing and mind finally at ease. It had been years since he had the pleasure of a scented bath in the comfort of a real tub. For years hygiene had been barely maintained by running a damp cloth along his body.

A full belly and the comforting warmth slowly dulled his senses and lulled him into a peaceful state between consciousness and sleep. He closed his eyes, rested his head on the back of the tub, and slowly drifted further and further into rest.

-0-

The Goddess opened the door with quiet ease and was greeted by a wave of heat and a man asleep in his bath. She smiled and shut the door before she padded into the bath.

Maintaining her silence, she sat upon a wooden stool and observed him for a moment. There were burn marks beneath the bruises and a splattering of small, puckered scars along his bare chest that she had not known existed.

The Goddess swallowed hard and reached out, moving his hair from a forehead beaded with sweat. He grunted at her touch but didn't wake. She smiled, knowing the food had caused his drowsiness.

She glanced to her side and took a sponge and chunk of lemongrass soap from the small table. Dipping her hands into the steaming water, she rubbed the soap into the sponge until a thick lather formed.

The moment she touched his chest he awoke with a start, his hands leaving the sides of the tub in favor of saving his modesty.

"Hiding something?" she inquired with a sly smile as she squeezed soap onto his chest.

"I-I thought—"

"Thought what?"

Erik hesitated. The towels were just out of reach, as was the robe on the wall. "Thought I would be alone," he sputtered at last.

The Goddess allowed her eyes to wander from his, her attention focusing beneath the surface of the water. "You were instructed not to touch anything. Have you kept your word?"

Erik nodded.

"Answer me aloud."

"Yes," he said. His eyes focused on the peacock's head. "Goddess."

"How will you bathe yourself if you are forbidden from touching the soaps and towels?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "Someone must assist you."

Erik nodded slowly, uncertainty in his eyes though his submerged body slowly responded to her words, his legs straightening, hips lifting.

"Sit forward," she commanded as she pulled her stool closer to the edge of the bath.

Without a sound Erik leaned forward, his body rigid as The Goddess took the sponge and dipped it into the water again. The back of her hand ran along the outside of his thigh, running up to his hip and side. He didn't look at her as she squeezed the water from the sponge and took the chunk of soap in hand, reworking the lather.

She washed him with seductive ease, her hand moving up and down his spine, over the old scars that had lessened in appearance over the years. He panicked knowing she saw and touched the old wounds, the remainder and the reminders of his deepest humiliation. He started to sit back again, but she pushed on his shoulder.

"Close your eyes and trust me," she whispered seductively in his ear.

Erik obeyed at once, his eyes closing as her bare hands ran along his neck and down his arms, gliding smoothly over his flesh. His body responded to her touch, his muscles relaxing and shoulders dropping at her gentle, welcomed caress.

His breathing quickened as her lazy touch traveled the length of his back. He remained at ease until her fingers moved to his front, trailing along his ribs and down to his navel.

Erik sat up instantly, alarm in his eyes as he stared at her, disbelieving the intimacy of her action. He started to shake his head but she ignored him, submerging the sponge again and squeezing excess water along his shoulder.

"Lean back," she instructed.

"No, don't," he begged quietly as he pulled his knees together.

Her fingers curled around his broad hand and drew his arm out of the water. She met his eye and reached for the other hand, locking a firm grasp around his wrist.

"You don't need to do this."

"Trust me," she said as she placed both of his hands along the tub's rim.

Her eyes never left his as she made circles along his chest, fingers splayed, smoothing over the warmth of his skin. She ran her fingertips along his flesh, her nails tangling briefly in the dark hair. Her thumb circled around his nipple and along the definition of his chest, up to the line of his collarbone, causing him to hold his breath.

The Goddess then abandoned his upper body for his outstretched legs. She put her hand beneath his knee and ran the sponge from the top of his foot up to his thigh and the part of his body he had initially attempted to hide from view. She said nothing, though she stared unabashedly at what had formed beneath the water's surface the moment she had touched him.

It pleased her that he was aroused by her caress. She purposely teased him, running her hand up to his hip, her fingers mere inches from the part of his body most desiring her attention.

As The Goddess reached over the edge of the tub, she leaned in and inadvertently wet her sari. She sat up on her knees and watched the beads of water sink into the dark fabric now clinging to her body.

She glanced up and caught him staring at her breasts. Again she leaned into the tub until her face was before his.

"You're hurting yourself," he said, seeing her grimace as the tub's edge dug into her ribs. He started to take the sponge from her hand, intending to relieve her of her duty.

The Goddess pulled away. "What do you suggest to remedy my problem?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed. "And I shall remind you that you are not allowed to touch anything within this room."

"I—I don't know."

"Think, Phantom, what would make it easier for me to reach within the tub?"

"Join me," he said under his breath.

She knew there was one thought on his mind, one thing he suddenly knew he wanted more than anything else. She watched as he swallowed hard and nodded, committing himself to his suggestion

The sponge dropped into the water as The Goddess rose to her feet. From his reflection in the mirror she knew he watched her with disappointment.

She guessed his thoughts. The request had been too brazen, far too bold for someone who had crawled out of the gutter. She saw him reach for a towel, preparing to leave the room and end his humiliation.

Slowly she turned to face him, unwrapping the sari as she stepped toward the tub.

"A fine idea," she breathed as the cotton garment hiding her body fell to the floor.


	47. Pleasure & Pain

Thanks to everyone for their reviews! We probably have about 10 chapters remaining. Thank you all for reading. Glad you liked the story.

Noir47

The Goddess stood before Erik for a long moment, her sari left in a pile at her feet. His body tensed with each passing second, with each pulse of blood through his veins. His eyes widened as he unabashedly drank her into his mind, savoring every inch of her.

His expression of total disbelief continued as she lifted one leg and entered the tub, her eyes locked on his, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She offered him more than he ever expected to receive in his miserable life. The longer he gazed upon her the more he wondered if the beating he had survived several days ago had sent him into delirium. There was no other valid explanation for what he saw before his eyes.

While he gaped in a mixture of delight and absolute terror, The Goddess stood in the water a moment, her legs adjusting to the temperature before she lowered to her knees.

Erik moved immediately, first pulling his legs apart, then thinking better of it and drawing his knees up to his chest to allow her more room. All the while he stared at her, his eyes struggled to remain on her face now that she was sharing the same intimate space as he.

The Goddess took a small silver pitcher from a shelf beside the tub and dipped it into the water.

"Lean forward," she instructed smoothly. "Close your eyes and keep your head down."

Erik did as he was told and felt a warm rush of water cascade onto his head. Once his hair was damp, he felt her hands gently massage his scalp.

Her touch sent a tingle through his body, a wave of pleasure like nothing he had ever experienced before. He felt himself leaning forward, his body soothed by the small circles her fingers made through his hair.

The Goddess kept one hand on his shoulder as she slowly poured water over his head, rinsing his hair clean.

-o-

She wondered if he could feel her hands trembling as she touched him.

The Goddess looked away as he rubbed his eyes. It was unspeakably intimate, unimaginably pleasurable to run her fingers through his wet hair. Erik was still losing strands of his dark locks, but he looked healthier already since he had eaten and slept some

Still, he was apprehensive in her presence. The Goddess placed the pitcher on the tile floor and rested both hands on his shoulders. She studied his face and his downcast eyes, the beads of water still clinging to his long lashes. He was breathing so hard that she could feel his hot breath each time he exhaled.

Without a sound she kissed him on the left cheek, drew back, and kissed him again on the right cheek. His eyes lifted to meet hers as she ran her thumb along his lips and brushed the water away.

"Enough," he whispered as he took her gently by the wrist. He entwined his fingers with hers and kissed the back of her hand in a prolonged gesture of his affection.

"You do not command me," she said once he released her.

Erik made no reply. He looked her face over, his hand reaching up to touch her cheek.

As much as she wanted to swat his hand away and forbid him from touching her, The Goddess said nothing. She merely looked into his eyes and turned toward the warmth of his touch.

Her eyes closed as he ran his thumb from her cheek down to her chin. She heard a splash of water and felt him move, but she kept her eyes closed, willing him to do as he wished.

A towel draped over her shoulders, causing her to open her eyes at once. She gave him a questioning look to which he replied with a slight smile.

Slowly, she sat back in the tub, her legs attempting to find room beside his.

Erik moved to accommodate her, looking respectfully away. Once seated, she pulled her knees up to her chest, crossing her feet at the ankles as her time as The Goddess faded away like the steam rising from the tub, replaced by a shy girl peering out from behind the eyes of a woman.

The charade was over.

She sighed, her hands rubbing over her knees. "How long have you known?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.

"Known what?" Erik questioned.

"Who I was," she asked quietly.

He sat in silence for a moment, his own legs drawn up so that they sat somehow separated even in close proximity.

"I don't know," he answered as he glanced up to meet her eyes.

"Are you disappointed?" she whispered.

"I am in no position to be disappointed," he answered. He paused, his hands squeezing into fists. "I thought you would forget me."

"You hoped I would forget you," she corrected, biting off her words.

"That's not true," he replied. He stared at her, long and hard. "I wanted what was best for you."

"Is that why you did it?"

"I thought it was for the best. I hoped you would forget me."

_The ropes binding his wrists cut into his flesh, rubbing away skin with each futile movement. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, Erik knew there was no escape. She would torture him for hours, days perhaps, and then she would kill him._

_She was going to kill him in the slowest, most meticulous way possible, in a way so horrendous that his mind couldn't begin to comprehend what lay ahead._

_The brush ran up to his hairline and along his temple._

_"What was it about her, Frenchman? Her unmatched beauty?"_

_Erik swallowed, tasting blood in the back of his throat. He fought again, hoping for a miracle to aid his escape._

_"You are young, you are virile, Frenchman. Perhaps if you had done as I demanded these things would not happen," the Sultana said. "You could have had many beautiful women, many willing virgins in your bed. Imagine that, Frenchman, a new woman each night."_

_Her words meant nothing to him. He never wanted a new woman each night. His mind wrapped around the only image that brought him joy, that gave him hope. He thought only of Corinna, of her gentle caress, of her soft lips, of her coy smile._

_"I could kill you," the Sultana continued. "Or I could send you to hell. Your existence depends on my decision, Frenchman. Does it frighten you?"_

_"Kill me," he exhaled. _

_"Kill you? I could very well kill you. How would you suggest I end your life?"_

_The familiar cold of a sharpened blade touched his throat. Erik wrenched his arms down, attempting to free his arms from the chains._

_"I could watch you drown in your own blood," the Sultana said. "But it would be over too swiftly. I think you're worth more than that. I could watch you for days, my dearest Frenchman. For days and days, just as I watched men wander through your creations." _

_His struggling stopped when something heavy and blunt hit him in the chest and stole the air from his lungs. Fear of death became immediate panic, as he could no longer breathe._

_"The worst is yet to come," the Little Sultana promised. _

Corinna reached forward and grabbed Erik's wrist. "How could I forget you?" she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

Erik stared at his hands, at her fingers wrapped around his wrist. For fifteen years he had hidden from the world, his desires slowly dying away. The more he attempted to convince himself that he needed nothing the more his heart ached to feel something, anything in the world.

Corinna loosened her grip. "I've spent years searching for you."

His eyes met hers as he shook his head, unwilling to believe her.

"I've been everywhere in Paris, constantly walking the streets in search of you, looking down alleys, in shadows, everywhere. I asked anyone who would stop if they knew you, but no one knew your name." She stopped and closed her eyes. "And then I heard about the haunting."

Erik shifted suddenly and their eyes met. "You knew?"

"I was there," she replied. "That night when you were on stage, I was there with the Daroga."

Erik turned away, ashamed to meet her eye. "I had no idea."

_It was quick. A simple, brilliant flash of light and unbearable heat. Despite the excruciating pain in his chest Erik managed to scream, body thrashing wildly as flames consumed the right side of his face. The smell of kerosene faded as the putrid stench of burning flesh and hair filled his nostrils._

_He had no idea when the flames were extinguished or who had doused him with water. He had no idea that the carriages were in line preparing to leave. He didn't even realize he had been moved, chained to a tree and left to die from hunger, dehydration, or infection._

_Nothing existed. His right eye was burned, his left singed from smoke. His body beaten and bruised, left bloodied and exhausted. _

_There was nothing but agony without end, pain so intense he thought he would die and prayed for the moment when his heart slowed and a deep, dreamless sleep gave way to death._

_He had no idea when he started to cry, or when the sound of his aguish drew the attention of a driver and a coach riding through the night._

_He knew nothing at all._

_Until a hand touched his left shoulder, lifted his chin, and muttered something Erik couldn't hear. Then a man shouted to cut him down immediately, and at once the sounds around him faded into nothing. _

He had started to shake while they sat in silence, which immediately alarmed Corinna. His eyes looked so distant, his face taut, lips straight. She reached for another towel and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in cotton warmth.

"Come," she said, reaching for his hand. "You should rest."

He looked up at her for a moment, his eyes searching her face. "Why did you search for me?"

Corinna handed him his robe. "There are fresh clothes on your bed. Dry yourself."


	48. End of Suffering

To those of you who preread: this has changed. Please read again (or reread the ending)

Noir39

_Mr. Desai's carriage bumbled along the winding road, each jolt rousing Erik, who released a labored groan of protest. _

_"Stay still, my son," Sanjeev whispered. "We're almost to the port in Gao. I can see the ships from here."_

_Erik had slept for two days, rendered senseless by the pain, kept lethargic by the fever that had overtaken him before Ari and Sanjeev had found him tied to a tree. With each hour his condition worsened, the open wounds blistering and draining constantly. _

_"Where is she?" Erik asked. His breathing was shallow, his voice trembling with each word._

_"Rest," Mr. Desai replied._

_He couldn't rest. He couldn't think of anything but Corinna and how much he never wanted her to see what happened to him. Before the Sultana left him for dead she told him that she wouldn't kill him. If fate willed it he would live, and she hoped he would live a long and miserable life, as no woman would ever look upon him again._

_The Sultana had pried his left eye open with her long fingernails and showed him a mirror in the palm of her hand, forcing him to gaze at his own terrible reflection. _

_Horror swept through him as he had stared back at himself, at the melted flesh, the blistered, reddened skin. His eyebrow had been burned completely off, as had the hair along his hairline. His eyelashes were gone, his nose misshapen, his upper lip burned from the center to the right corner._

With the image seared into his mind, Erik inquired again, fearing Corinna would see what he had become.

_"Where is Corinna?" _

_Erik strained to open his eyes, but the carriage was too dark to see anything. He gripped the cushion and arched his back, struggling to sit upright against the bruises and lacerations across his back. _

_"Quiet now, Mr. Levesque. She's right beside you," Mr. Desai answered._

_"No," Erik protested. He reached for his face, his fingers hovering above his tender flesh. "No, don't let her look."_

_A hand gripped his wrist, a small, feminine hand._

_"I don't care about what happened," she whispered, her breath hot against the left side of his face._

_She sniffled once and started to sing, her voice a low, sweet sound that only he could hear. For a moment he listened, surprised by her voice, finding comfort in the sound of the Hindi song she sang._

_In his mind he pictured her face twisted, contorted in pity and horror of the beast she sang to him in the darkness. He envisioned tears streaming down her face as she turned away, appalled by this creature she had once found handsome and worthy of her affection._

_His was the face of a man who designed torture chambers, a man accused of raping and stealing a young woman. _

_Corinna deserved better._

_"Don't touch me," he demanded, prying her hand away. _

_"Erik, please…" Corinna cried._

_"Stop the carriage," he said through his teeth, tightening his stomach and forcing himself upright._

_"Lay still," Mr. Desai urged. "We'll have you on the ship soon enough."_

_"No," he wheezed. Pain roared through him and his stomach churned. "No, I want to leave now."_

_"You're not strong enough," Mr. Desai said as he gripped Erik's shoulder. "You'll kill yourself."_

_Erik's body slumped forward, his momentum stopped by Mr. Desai and Mr. Nadir catching him by the arms. _

_"Tell her to forget me," he whispered before he lost consciousness. _

Erik shook the memory from his mind as he tied his robe and toweled water out of his hair.

There was a lawn shirt and clean trousers laying on the double bed when he walked into the bedchamber. He shed his robe, feeling the warmth from the fireplace engulf him as he dried himself and dressed.

Once his trousers were buttoned he examined his living quarters, taking notice of the fresh roses on the dresser and a small black satin box with a red bow tied around it. A small note card bearing his name was propped against the mirror.

_Erik,_

_The box is for you. I will meet you at the end of the hall when you are dressed. If you wish to rest, there are pajamas in the top drawer. I will return for you at dinnertime._

_Corinna_

He held her note for a moment, reading the words over and over, running his finger along the lines and her name. With a wry smile he placed it on the dresser top and opened the satin box.

The ribbon fell from his fingers and his jaw went slack as he stared into the box. He swallowed hard as he plucked the skull-shaped cufflinks from the box and studied them for a moment.

They were flawless, polished to perfection and smiling back at him with sinister grins. He had forgotten that he bought them when he first came to India. The skull had become his moniker in the years he ruled the opera house with terror. His feelings were mixed when he studied the small pieces of brass.

With a ragged sigh, Erik turned to retrieve his shirt and found Corinna standing in the doorway with her hands behind her back.

"How did you find them?" he asked as he placed the cufflinks back inside the box and walked toward the bed.

She met him in the center of the room, her head turned to the side. "I took them from your room," she answered, her voice low. "It was a long time ago, but I remember putting them in one of the tubes with your artwork when...when you disappeared."

Erik studied her face for a moment but said nothing. Her eyes were no longer painted, her lips no longer stained. Over the years she had aged, but her face was still that of the young woman he first met in London. The sight of her gave him shivers, and for a moment he wondered if he had dreamed his hellish existence.

A glance in the mirror reaffirmed his dread. He had become a monster, both inside and out.

In silence he threaded one arm through the shirtsleeve and stopped, feeling Corinna's hand along his bare arm. She squeezed his bicep gently, her thumb caressing his right arm inches above an old scar.

Her fingers moved with grace and traced along the scar, slowly drawing a line up to his shoulder where the burn marks scattered across his flesh like stars through the night sky.

Erik held his breath and watched her closely, waiting for the curiosity in her gaze to fade and for repulsion to stain her expression.

She pressed her lips to his bare shoulder and he closed his eyes, feeling her long hair brush against his arm. His hand slowly lifted from his side and settled in the middle of her back, drawing her into a gentle, soothing embrace.

"I hated you for a long time," she whispered against his shoulder. "I hated you for leaving."

Erik nodded, pulling her closer, feeling her hands grip tighter to his upper arms.

"Why did you do it?" she asked quietly.

For years Erik had known he had done the wrong thing. The moment he stumbled aboard the ship with Ari Nadir, he had wanted Corinna by his side. Pushing her away had only added to his bitterness, to his anger, to the hopelessness he had felt growing inside with each year that passed.

"I didn't want you to see this," he answered, turning his face from her.

"I've been searching for you," she replied. "For twelve years I've searched every corner of Europe, asked every person I've seen if they knew you, if they knew where..."

"You should have married," he said softly. He boldly moved his hand up and down the length of her spine, feeling the warmth of her body against his palm and the silkiness of her hair against his knuckles.

"There was a wedding arranged," she told him. "My father's brother found a nice man, twenty years older than me and quite wealthy. I met him twice and he was a good man."

All he wanted was for her to be happy, but deep inside he dreaded hearing her say she was married and had children. He hated himself for his selfishness, for wanting her to belong to him when he had asked her to forget him.

"Were you happy together?" he asked, his fingers raking through her perfumed hair.

"No," she admitted. "Two days before our wedding I left for France."

His knees weakened at her revelation, his hand falling away from her. Corinna looked at him a moment and nodded toward the bed, telling him to sit.

"I couldn't marry him," she said as she sat beside him. "He was good to me, but I wasn't in love with him. In time perhaps I would have felt differently, but I knew….I knew if I looked for you, I would find you."

Erik merely nodded, uncertain of how to respond to her words and astonished that she was sitting beside him on his bed. He wanted to touch her, to take her by the hand and sit with her forever, but he also wanted more. He had lain dormant for too many years. The Goddess had given life to a sleeping seed, kindled a desire that grew with each heartbeat.

Corinna leaned forward and ran her fingers over the backs of his hands. "I knew I would find you. If I searched long enough I would find you. And now I've found you," she said.

She sat on her knees and looked him in the eye before gently kissing his left cheek. She moved in closer as his hands gripped her hips, holding her as she kissed the right side of his face. He shuddered at her gesture, drawing in a sharp breath before her lips found his.

They lowered to the bed together, legs tangled, arms wrapped around each other, neither one willing to let go of the intimate embrace.

A rush of memories flooded Erik's mind. He remembered what it felt like to kiss her in the parlor long ago. Kissing her again was like waking from a dream and being able to return to sleep again and continue the pleasantness.

Her hand ran down his arm, along his ribs and up to his chest where it came to rest over his heart. The kiss deepened and she moved her hips forward, pressing her body to his as they lay on their sides.

There was nothing rushed, nothing urgent in their kisses or soft caresses. After a while Corinna lifted her hand and held it to left side of his face. His eyes opened and he found her smiling at him, her eyes half-opened, her face flushed.

"Rest," she whispered to him. "I will be here when you wake."

Erik kept her close to him once she draped a blanket over their bodies. He closed his eyes as she snuggled up against his chest, feeling her warm breaths on his bare skin and her lips planting small kisses from the middle of his chest to his shoulders.

"I love you," he whispered as he embraced her, as he held her to him as though he feared she would disappear. "I've always loved you, always. I've thought about you constantly," he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head and her forehead and her eyelids until his lips kissed tears. "You are my…"

She kissed him on the lips before he could call her a Goddess, before he could give her a title that no longer held sway over their lives.

"Why?" he asked.

Her answer was another kiss.

Erik looked into her eyes, into the dark orbs pooling with tears. She raked her fingers through his hair and gently caressed his ear. Words were useless. He knew why she had done it, why she had appeared to him as a Goddess.

He had fallen too far. He would not have come to her, the woman he longed to see again, the kindness he no longer deserved. It was the only way, and they both knew it.

"I loved you," Corinna whispered. "From the moment you first touched my hand in London. That will never change."

He kissed her, longer and deeper than before, his insides surging with an overwhelming feeling of ecstasy. For the first time in too many years he felt safe and secure.

For the first time in his life he felt hopeful and able to love.


	49. The Stillness of Night

Noir47

Erik woke in the darkness, startled by the stillness surrounding him and the warmth at his back. His muscles tensed, his mouth opened in question. Panic filled him as he had expected to wake and find himself beneath the opera house, his existence returned to the hell he wanted to escape from for so long.

And then he heard her sigh and remembered Corinna was there with him. She had found him.

Erik released a soft sigh and eased his head against the silk pillowcase, feeling her breaths against his bare shoulder.

The last thing he remembered before drifting into sleep was Corinna nestled up against him, humming in his ear, whispering that she would be there when he woke. He had been afraid to close his eyes, afraid to fall asleep and find her gone.

But there she was in the middle of the night, her hand resting against his hip, her leg against his. He could hear her breathing. She was still asleep beside him, sharing a bed, sharing dreamless, peaceful sleep.

Erik moved away, lifting Corinna's hand so he could turn and face her in the night. She sighed softly but didn't wake. Her hand rested on his side and she murmured something before she was sound asleep again.

So many years had slipped away since last they had met, yet in sleep she looked the same. Her complexion was still flawless, her eyelashes long and dark. With her face washed of bawdry makeup she appeared childlike.

As much as he attempted to remove the thoughts from his mind, Erik found it impossible to forget Christine. In the years he had lived alone, Christine had kept him alive. She hadn't known it, as she had thought him ethereal, but he had fed off her voice and her innocence.

_She was my prey_, he thought as he looked away, unable to face Corinna. He had merely wanted to watch over her. As he lay awake he attempted to pinpoint when his admiration had become an obsession, a sickening fixation with a voice.

Erik's stomach twisted. He was making himself ill with the thought of all that had happened. Not even the taste of her kiss was sweet in his memory. It had all been a mistake, one which nearly ended fatally. One that _did_ end fatally, he reminded himself, though the bloodshed could have been worse.

He rose from the bed, unable to lie beside Corinna with his thoughts dragging him into another melancholy state. Still exhausted, he buttoned his shirt and walked to the window, shivering as he left the comfortable warmth he had shared with Corinna. The night was clear, the stars bright and a quarter moon struggling to reveal the empty courtyard below the window.

Night was safe to him, night was protective, an unspoken ally to a man who was forced to embrace the shadows. In the nights between visits to Corinna he had lay awake in the darkness, tucked into a doorway with his cloak concealing him in the night. Sleep refused to pay him a visit, so he would wait until the first light of dawn sent him into hiding, and he would disappear. Several times he had dared to crawl beneath the opera house again. Once he had been met with strangers, though the rest of his visits had been plagued only by guilt.

Erik felt suddenly restless and confined. He added another log to the fire dwindling in the hearth and turned one last time to check on Corinna, who was still sleeping peacefully on her side.

He smiled wanly as he padded barefoot into the hall. There was a single kerosene lamp turned down low on a table. The gas lamps lining the walls were turned off for the evening, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the single lamp revealed the room he stood in.

There was something strangely familiar about the hall, something he couldn't quite place as he stood alone, listening to the tick on an unseen clock.

Erik had no idea if there were servants within the house or where they would be, as he had no idea what the hour was. He stood a moment and pieced the house together, recalling that he had only seen the dining room, the bath, and the master bedchamber.

Something seemed peculiar, but he knew if he walked down the stairs and to the far end of the hall he should discover four bedrooms: two on the left side and two on the right. The master bedroom should have been at the end of the hall, but it was upstairs where the library should have been.

With his brow furrowed, he stared ahead into the darkness, imagining a sitting room and a spacious study.

Erik walked down the stairs, shivering as his feet touched the cool wooden stairs. His fingers skimmed the fresco wall as he lifted his kerosene lamp from the table and glanced at the tapestries lining the walls.

His heart was racing by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. He was confused but overjoyed.

He knew this place.

Erik swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the layout, feeling the pencil in his hand, hearing the lines drawn on the paper. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, imagining the sun at his back and the decanter of wine set beside him on the table. He remembered how his shoulders and neck hurt, how the sun set before he realized it was even past noon.

He remembered the day he had finished the plans, how he sat back and felt a surge of pride.

The same sense of pride still existed. This was his home, his design.

"Welcome home," Corinna said softly as her fingers intertwined with his.

Erik's eyes popped open, and his breath caught in his throat at her unexpected presence. He squeezed her hand, staring at her face in the darkness until he could make out her features. She smiled back at him and took his hand in both of hers as they lingered side by side.

"I kept the plans with me for years, intending on building the palazzo in India. Calcutta seemed fitting, but the Baleeze family had trade routes along the river, so I decided to stay away." She glanced at him briefly and he caught the glint in her eye when she smiled at him. Erik put his arm around her and held her tighter, wanting to stare into her eyes forever.

"I never liked India," she continued. "I was never…accepted as Indian."

"Did you return to England?"

Corinna nodded. "Ursula and I stayed there for many years. We returned to the flat my father owned and lived there for three years. This, of course, was following the engagement I broke."

They walked to the end of the hall and entered the library where Corinna released Erik's hand and turned the lamps up. She gestured for him to sit, and he collapsed into a sturdy leather chair.

A clock on the desk revealed it was three in the morning. He ignored the time and studied the room, finding rich mahogany wood panels and shelves lined with leather-bound books. There were two brocaded chairs in the corner next to a small round table, with gas lamps for reading.

"Where is Ursula?" he asked, hoping nothing had happened to her, as he couldn't recall Corinna mentioning her companion.

"Sleeping," Corinna answered as she took a bottle of wine from the cabinet and set it on the desk. "She has three sons. You'll see them in the morning—or, rather, you'll hear them running about."

"She has children?"

Corinna nodded and smiled. "Her husband is a good man. They live not a mile away. When I told her I was bringing you home she decided to stay the night."

"I thought they lived here."

She shook her head as she poured two goblets of wine. "I've stayed here, but the house belongs to you." Corinna handed him a glass of wine and grinned, seeing his befuddled expression.

"The palazzo was finished last winter. The month after I knew for certain you were in Paris, I hired a crew." She sat across from him and shrugged. "The layout was modified—at my discretion. As you noticed the library upstairs—"

"Is the master bedroom. It overlooks the garden."

Corinna nodded. "It's beautiful in the summer. The butterflies feed all afternoon, and there are feeders and baths for birds throughout the courtyard. One can spend hours sitting, reading…talking," she said whimsically.

"How did you afford it? If you're not married? Your income…" his voice trailed off. "Have you…sold…?"

"No," she answered before he finished. "The funds are yours. The money you gave my father has been maturing the last fifteen and a half years in several accounts. Once I knew you were alive—once I saw the opera house for myself—I withdrew enough to have the structure built."

"The opera house?" he questioned, horrified.

"I attended Hannibal, and I saw Carmen on opening night when the dancers were more than willing to share their experiences of the opera ghost. I learned you were white as the moon—and you had red eyes…like a bat. They quite enjoyed sharing tales, though none of them knew anything, really. I should have expected as much from ballet dancers and _chorus_ girls."

He nodded, his lips turned down, his chest tightening. He had hoped she wouldn't know the small details surrounding his life—his regrettable existence beneath the Opera Populaire. He didn't want to discuss ballet dancers or chorus girls.

Corinna broke the lingering silence.

"In time, I intended to have Mr. Nadir lure you home, as I imagined you would be much more comfortable here than…in a cellar," she said as she glanced around the room. With a shrug she set her glass on the table and added quietly, "That, however, didn't work."

Erik nodded, averting his eyes in shame as they sat in silence again. He had attempted to kill Nadir weeks ago when the Persian led the aristocrat Raoul de Chagny to the lakeside apartments. For weeks Nadir had attempted to see Erik, and every time the Persian appeared Erik drove him away, threatening him.

It was painful to see the man he had known years ago, painful to see a face from his past. He wanted no past. He wanted nothing but Christine, whom he always knew deep inside was not his future.

He had not expected a future, and once he had released Christine to the arms of her lover he didn't expect to live much longer. Unable to sleep, refusing to eat, he expected to fade away, disappearing into shadow, slipping into sewers and never seen again.

Corinna lifted her glass to her lips and stared at him over the rim. She leaned forward and placed her glass on the table again.

"But here you are after everything that has happened. Here you are at last. Home," she said. "And now?"

Their eyes met. Erik's mouth opened but no words formed in his head. He snatched up his wine glass, drank the contents, and set it back on the table. His palms were sweating, his hands trembling as he suddenly knew what he wanted, what he had always wanted.

It was now a matter of giving his desires a voice.

"Now," Erik started, unafraid to look her in the eye. "I want what I had. With you. I want to be with you."


	50. Home

_Please come check out my website Gabrina dot com. There's a chat room. Next scheduled chat is at 8pm Central on Wednesday. Come by and say hello if you want!_

Noir50

With his eyes locked on Corinna, Erik walked around the desk, his heart pounding so hard that he could hear the blood pulsing in his ears.

He hesitated when he stood before her, his arms straight at his sides, his throat dry. His every thought was trained on reaching for her hand, for her face, for her body.

Instead, he dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand and grimaced at the self-inflicted pain. She said nothing, but Erik knew she was aware of what he had done.

Corinna reached first and took his hand, slowly running her fingers over the indentations created by his fingernails. With a subtle smile, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"I will return you to your room so you may rest," she said softly as she nuzzled his neck.

Erik turned his face before Corinna pulled away. She let out a gasp as their lips met, though despite her sound of surprise she didn't pull away. She abandoned his hand in favor of linking her arms at the back of his neck, and before he knew it, Erik was backed up against the desk with Corinna pressed to his chest.

It was exactly as he remembered, as he often dreamed at night. The warmth of their embrace was the most comforting thing he had experienced in years. She smelled faintly of lime, her lips tasting sweet from the wine they enjoyed.

"This," she said against his mouth, "is not resting, my love."

He didn't reply. He didn't want to reply, to break the spell that had come over him the moment her hand had touched his. Her caress peeled back the fifteen years that stood between them. Each wasted day disappeared, as the time they had spent by the Hughli River slowly returned.

His hands, which had been placed firmly against her back, slowly ran down to her hips and up to her ribs until his fingers swept across the curve of her breast.

Erik exhaled hard as his thumb grazed the hardened peak. He heard her groan softly as she leaned into him, her hands running through his hair, her thighs pressed against his. He could feel the maddening warmth of her skin through her clothing.

Corinna was panting when she pulled away at last. She cupped his face in her hands and smiled as she looked him in the eye.

"Rest," she said, locking his fingers with hers.

Erik obeyed her words but held her close a moment longer, listening to her breath, feeling her heartbeat.

"Stay with me," he whispered boldly.

"Not tonight. The temptation is far too great," she said, running her fingers down his spine. "And the wine? The wine will make the night lonely for both of us, I'm afraid."

Erik stepped away from Corinna before expectations became far too much to resist. Hand in hand he walked her to down the hall to her room.

"I will see you in the morning," she promised him before he padded barefoot upstairs to his own bedchamber.

Morning was announced by the lamp on the desk rattling and the headboard vibrating against the wall. Alarmed, Erik sat up in bed and searched the darkened room, uncertain of what was happening.

"Stop running!" a woman ordered in French.

Erik laid back, a smile creeping onto his lips. It was Ursula. Her voice still sounded as stern and commanding as ever, though her grasp of the French language had improved significantly over the years. Erik wondered if she had married a Frenchman or an Indian.

"You'll wake the whole house!" Ursula snapped.

"Too late," Erik whispered to himself, finding he was far more amused than annoyed by the cacophony. He sat upright and moved from the bed to the window. Once the curtains were tied back the room flooded with light. Erik squinted a moment before his eyes adjusted.

Corinna stood in the center of the snow-dusted garden feeding crumbs to the sparrows. She was dressed in a deep blue cloak that revealed nothing but her face and her hands. Mesmerized, he watched her as he listened to Ursula and her sons in the hall.

"May we return home?" a boy whined.

"No. What have I told you? Sit quietly."

"Mother!" the boy groaned.

"The master of the house has arrived," Ursula replied. "Omar, quit hitting your brother. All of you! Downstairs lest you want a good swat."

Again the lamp rattled as they tore down the stairs, apparently racing each other. Erik could hear Ursula grumbling as she followed them down.

Within moments the boys appeared in the courtyard and frightened the birds Corinna had been feeding. A dozen sparrows fluttered away, chirping as their meal was interrupted.

With her hands on her hips, Corinna shook her head at them. Erik could barely hear her voice muffled through the door as she told them to behave themselves before their mother gave them a good swat.

The oldest of the three looked to be about ten. He grabbed his two younger brothers by the hands and dragged them back into the home, which made them cry out in protest.

Once they were gone Erik dressed in the fresh clothing he found within the armoire. He started to leave his room but paused, his hand grasping the porcelain doorknob.

The children were strangers to him. If one of them saw him in the hall…

Erik stepped away from the door. The mask he had worn for years was no longer in the room to provide comfort, to offer him a shield. In broad daylight there was nothing to hide the scars. If he chose to walk into the hall they would see him.

And then what? He asked himself. Suffer their ridicule? Wait for them to stare and ask politely to leave the room?

The longer he hesitated the more impossible it was to think clearly. His palms began to sweat, his throat growing dry. From the corner of his eye Erik saw his reflection in the dressing mirror.

He was clothed as any other man: a white lawn shirt, dark woolen trousers, and impeccable shoes. He was much too thin, he knew, but in time that would change. In a week or two the gauntness would give way to health again.

But that face.

When he had first been burned he could still close his eyes and see his face as it had once been, when the skin on both sides was smooth, when his flesh was not bubbled and marred.

As time passed he forgot what he once looked like. In solitude his perception became twisted, warped like wood left in the rain. When he looked into the mirror he saw both sides changed, both sides made terrible, ghastly, unrecognizable as a human face.

He saw a monster.

Soon, he felt the beast within grow, feral and frightening. Inside he was bitter and frightened and alone.

Because of his damned face.

Erik stood before the mirror and heard laughter, though he wasn't certain if it was in his mind or real. He could still hear the gasp of total horror, of sheer repulsion when Christine had removed the mask. Above all else he had come to fear the reactions of others.

"Eck," came Ursula's voice followed by pounding at his bedroom door.

His eyes darted around the room as he searched for something to cover his face. Unable to find anything suitable, he placed his hand over the scars and walked to the door.

"It is you," Ursula said when she saw him standing there.

He nodded, unable to find his voice.

Ursula had changed over the years. The familiar stern face had softened around the eyes and mouth. She looked younger than her years despite a few strands of silver running through her straight black hair. She appeared content.

"Are you joining us for breakfast?" she asked.

"You have children," he said obtusely as he turned away.

She chuckled to herself. "You heard them, then? I apologize. They're quite spirited. Sometimes I think they're a wild herd. Their father, he spoils them. I suppose all men are proud to have three sons despite their behavior."

Erik nodded as he stood with his back to her. It had been so long since he had seen her that he didn't know what to say to her or how to act. He wanted to tell her how pleased he was to see she had a family, but she had always kept her distance from him, as she did not wholly trust his intentions with Corinna.

"You look well," she continued, though Erik was certain she was being polite. "Thin, perhaps, but well."

As much as he wanted to pull his hand from his face and turn toward her, Erik couldn't bring himself to do it. He was suddenly wondering what he was doing in this house, in this room.

The thought surprised him. There was potential here, potential to find happiness at last. He didn't want to doubt that he belonged here, in the house he had designed, in the home built with his funds.

But he couldn't stop thinking of all that had transpired in the years since he had last seen Corinna and Ursula.

"Your French is quite good," he blurted out once he realized she had stopped speaking.

"I have lived here long enough to learn," she explained. "My husband is a French-born Indian. He has helped me learn."

Erik turned partially toward her and forced a smile, feeling increasingly awkward with each passing second. He fought the urge to walk from the room, storm down the stairs, and blindly return to the world beyond the palazzo walls. It made his stomach tighten when he thought of fleeing.

"It's good to see you," Ursula said softly. "I…I worried about you when you disappeared. We all did. When Corinna said she thought she knew where you were…" her voice trailed off, and Erik turned to face her, peering at her through his fingers. "She refused to give up hope."

The children bounded up the stairs again but then galloped down the opposite hall. Ursula gritted her teeth at the sound and shook her head.

"I'm glad you've returned," she said as she looked him in the eye. "Corinna is quite pleased," Ursula smiled before she turned and walked out of the room.

Erik stood stock still, more uncertain of himself than ever before.

And wondering if everything would change after Corinna saw him in the light of day.


	51. Seduction

Feedback is really appreciated! Sorry for the slow updates. I'll get the next chapter done before Friday, I hope.

Noir52

Once the house was quiet, Erik entered the hall, his breath still and his hands sweating. He felt like a fugitive roaming a museum as he stared at the fresco walls. The walls he knew. He had designed them, but the interior decoration was not his own.

It was foreign, unfamiliar, and strangely alarming. Erik had forgotten what it was like to walk a hall where the carpet was drenched in sunlight. He had forgotten the varying shades of light created as clouds passed through the sky, the sound of the wind hissing through windows, the feel of a wet floor when the windows were left open.

He didn't know how to live as others lived. Being above ground made his heart thunder in his chest and his lungs tighten.

He felt an urge to flee.

Erik's hand touched the railing and he paused, forcing himself to remain at the top of the stairs.

Where will I go if I leave? he asked himself. His stomach was empty, he had little money and far too many people still searching for him. He wasn't even sure where he was, as he had slept through a portion of the journey.

He knew he should have felt overjoyed, yet his heart sank in his chest. Corinna had spent too many years searching for him, and all he could think was of the many ways he could disappoint her. He could never walk in daylight again. He was too ashamed of his appearance, too fearful of who might recognize him on the street.

"There you are." Her voice snapped him out of his daydream.

Startled, he glanced around, uncertain of where she stood. She touched his stomach with the palm of her hand as she walked past him on the stairs. The folds of her cloak brushed past his leg as she rounded the corner.

"Ursula couldn't tolerate another moment of her children screaming," she commented. "They are returning home now but may join us for dinner in a night or two."

Erik turned and followed Corinna with his eyes, his feet suddenly planted on the floor. She glanced at him and smiled warmly.

"Would you care to join me for a moment before we sit down to breakfast?" she asked.

He followed in silence, his thoughts pulled in different directions. He wasn't sure if Corinna understood what a life with him would entail. She deserved better than a life of hiding. She was gregarious and her appearance still youthful. Any number of men would vie for her hand.

"You are being very quiet this morning," Corinna said once she ushered him into her bedchamber.

Erik glanced around the room but still said nothing. He saw a large painting on the far wall and his eyes were drawn to its depiction of two people riding an elephant. His mouth turned dry as he took a step forward, his lips parted, his hands suddenly trembling.

"Are you feeling ill today?" Corinna asked.

The man and woman in the painting were shown in profile, sitting astride the elephant. The man had his arm wrapped around the woman's waist and his chin rested on her shoulder.

"My God," he whispered as he neared the painting. His hand reached out, fingers grazing Corinna's likeness.

"Do you like it?" Corinna asked over her shoulder.

"It's…" He shook his head. It was before the burning, before the right side of his face had been scarred beyond recognition. The sight of it made him shiver. Corinna looked the same. He was far beyond recognition. What once belonged together was no longer meant to be, he thought morosely.

"A man I met in Florence painted it from the story I told him. I think it's beautiful," she said. She paused and began taking pins out of her hair. "It has kept me company for some time now."

Corinna twisted on her vanity stool and stared at him a moment, silver hairbrush in one hand and several pins in the other. Erik looked away, knowing she still studied him. His eyes searched the floor and he wondered if she compared the man in the painting to the thing standing before it.

His eyes flicked up. That was what she wanted, the moment captured in memory, this scene displayed on her wall. Despite appearances Erik was certain he could never quite be that man again. He was changed, both inside and out.

"I can't," he whispered softly.

"Do you remember that morning?" Corinna asked as she began running the boar bristles through her long, black hair.

Erik could see her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes had closed, her lips forming a slight smile. She looked serene, like someone caught in a pleasant daydream.

"You had never ridden an elephant before. I remember how you hesitated—and how that boy kept yelling at you because you were certain you needed reins, like horseback riding. You had no idea what he was saying, but you yelled back. The only Hindi phrase you knew."

"Water, please," Erik said as he walked to Corinna, watching her closely in the mirror.

Corinna chuckled. "My aunt taught you that, didn't she? So that the servants would bring you something to drink while you worked. She was afraid you would die of thirst as you worked in the sun all day. She was surprised you weren't as dark as the rest of the Indians by your second week there."

The memory prompted a smile to slide across his lips. "I believe she did."

Without opening her eyes Corinna reached over her shoulder and took Erik's hand in hers.

"This is better," she said. "I admired that painting, but this is real. This is what I've waited for."

She opened his fingers and handed him the brush.

"Would you care to help me?" she asked, her voice low and sweet.

Erik studied the brush. There was a tiger etched into the broad back, which brought on another onslaught of memories. With a deep breath he pushed the thoughts aside and turned his attention to Corinna.

Her shoulders dropped the moment he ran the brush through her straight hair. With her head slightly tilted back she released a soft sigh of pleasure that nearly caused Erik to drop the brush to the ground.

His fingers inadvertently caressed her neck as he pushed her hair aside. Corinna leaned back against his touch, which set his nerves on fire and ignited heat deep within his belly. Erik continued to run the brush through her hair, though at the same time he raked his fingers through her locks, encouraged by her escalated breathing as he touched her scalp.

It was impossible for him to concentrate or keep his fingers from touching her neck. He kept his eyes trained on her expression in the mirror, finding himself hypnotized by the look of sheer ecstasy overtaking her flushed face. She had never looked so perfect as she did in that moment, with her hair down and enjoying his caresses.

The brush slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor as Corinna turned and rose. She ignored everything around her as she linked her arms around his neck and stared into his green eyes. No one looked at him the way she did, so fearless, so compassionate. She looked at him as though he were still the same man in the painting.

Erik's arms hung loose at his side. His hands twitched, balling into fists and then releasing as his uncertainty heightened into something that threatened to swallow him whole.

At the same time his heart raced and his palms felt clammy as he continued to clench and release his fists. Her dark eyes looked brighter than he ever remembered as she closed the space between them, her stomach pressed to his, her breasts against his chest.

Corinna gave him no time to reconsider his desire. She turned her face and closed her eyes, parting her lips as his mouth pressed to hers. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders, kneading his muscles, soothing the tension that had built up over the years. She ran her index finger along his neck, evoking a surge of warmth to rise through his body.

Her tongue slipped into his mouth, causing him to exhale hard through his nostrils as his hands gripped her tighter, pressing her to him, squeezing her soft body to his own hardness.

Corinna tugged at the hem of his shirt until it was untucked from his trousers. Her hands slid along his hips and up his sides, eliciting a soft moan from him as she gently nibbled his bottom lip.

When she pulled away his eyes opened, heavy lidded and betraying his private thoughts as he studied her face. He watched in mesmerized silence as Corinna unbuttoned his shirt, her lips slowly moving down his chest where the soft cotton of his lawn shirt had once covered. His breath hitched when her tongue ran like wet fire along his nipple, instantly turning it into a hardened peak. He exhaled sharply as she ran her tongue and teeth down to his ribs, springing his desires to life in an unmistakable shape beneath his trousers.

Erik could barely stand the centering of unrequited pleasure he felt churning through his midsection. His eyes closed for a moment as he allowed waves of pleasure to course through his veins.

But it was not enough.

He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to explore each inch of her. His hand combed through her hair as she kissed his neck, her tongue dragging along his hot flesh. His lips parted and he whispered her name hoarsely, his chest heaving as she tormented him with a taste of pleasure.

Erik's hands slowly moved along her back as he struggled to find the end of the sari. He tilted his head down and kissed her again, pulling firmly at the fabric.

Corinna giggled against his lips and brought his hand to her shoulder.

"Here," she said, waiting for him to grasp the fabric.

She spun around in a slow, tantalizing circle, her movements undressing her before his eyes. Yard by yard the sari slipped away and revealed her titian flesh covered only by a short blouse that came up beneath her breasts, and a petticoat that touched the floor.

Erik stared at her hips and bare stomach, his mind lost in the gentle curve of her belly. He wanted to run his tongue along her navel, bite her gently along her waist. He wanted to smell her sweet, feminine scent and drink in her taste.

Corinna crushed herself to his chest again, the buds of her small nipples pressing into his bare flesh. She released a soft, desperate moan as he kissed her shoulder and neck, biting her gently below her ear. She ran her fingers through his hair and pushed her hips forward, grinding her stomach against his erection, groaning louder than before.

His mouth pressed to hers again in fervent need to be closer to her. Once his hands found a way beneath her blouse he caressed her small breasts, finding the pebbled hardness of her nipples. He smiled against her lips as one of his hands moved and pressed against the small of her back, feeling her move so that she stood on the tips of her toes, caressing his manhood with her body.

When finally he felt as if the coil that had been building within him would burst, Corinna pulled away, panting as she stared at him.

Thinking he had stepped over an unspoken boundary he looked away, uncertain of what would happen next.

Corinna placed her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his back, fingers swirling along his flesh.

"Erik," she said, her voice low and deep. She kissed his chest, nuzzling against the sparse covering of dark hair. "Take me to bed."


	52. Complete

Noir53

_Take me to bed._

Her words reverberated through Erik's mind, through his chest, arms, legs, and the parts of him that throbbed when she whispered in his ear and opened his trousers one button at a time.

He could scarcely hear her words through his own heavy breaths as she nuzzled his ear and spoke to him in a seductive, maddening whisper. Placing her palms flat against his chest she guided him to the bed.

"I—" Erik began, panic flooding his eyes. He wanted her. His body displayed his desire for intimacy, though he was uncertain he could give her ease. Surely she knows he lacked experience, he thought. Surely she knows this was a mistake.

"I want to be with you. Completely," Corinna assured him, looking him in the eye as she ran her palms up and down his chest, fingers teasing his stomach, his hips, and the thickness of his manhood that twitched each time her hand ran down his shaft. "For the rest of my life."

She continued to touch him in the most intimate way possible, one hand running up and down his manhood, the other supporting the weight of his testicles. Erik wasn't sure if he would be able to care for her the way she cared for him. He could feel the tight coil of pleasure building, threatening to release. With great reluctance he pried her hand away, which opened Corinna's eyes. She understood his concern and nodded, deepening their kisses while stroking his arms and chest.

Corinna pressed her body to his and kissed his lips, both sides of his face, and his forehead. Her hands cupped his face, and she ran her fingers through his hair. Her kisses were tender yet passionate. Her lips covered every inch of his flesh, both scarred and flawless. Each caress aroused and reassured him that they belonged together, each smile, each glance promised that she loved him unconditionally and that nothing would ever change her feelings.

Before Erik realized he had moved, his legs were backed against the bed and Corinna was in his arms, the rounded, warm curve of her belly pressed against his stomach and shaft, stirring him with more life than he had ever experienced. He squeezed her tighter, pressing her, molding her against him until the warmth her skin became his own.

She nibbled his bottom lip, her hands running down the length of his back, her fingernails skimming his flesh.

Corinna knelt on the bed and brought Erik with her, refusing to release him, to lose the man she had spent so many years searching for. She knew he was ready and that she was prepared as well for what she had spent nights waiting to find. Many long and lonely years had passed in which she had stared longingly at the painting hanging opposite her bed. She wanted nothing more than to recapture the feeling of that day in the picture, his warm, comforting arms wrapped around her.

Her mouth abandoned his briefly as he knelt above her, one leg between her knees. She tasted his shoulder and the salt from his sensitive neck, listening, bidding him to breathe harder, to whisper her name.

Erik ran his hand over her breast, allowing his fingers to gently rub and circle her nipple. He knew that he teased her, tempted her with each passing second, as her hips rose and met his briefly, hinting at what lay ahead.

It became a game borne of passion, a contest of pleasure.

Corinna drew his fingers away and kissed the tips, watching as he studied her in disbelief. She sucked on his index finger and took pleasure in watching his lips part, a harsh breath leaving his lungs. Everything he had wanted within the carriage could be realized at last, but for the moment she intended to prolong the teasing, to heighten his awareness.

Erik's eyes closed as he savored the way she laved him, his body melting into hers as he found her breast again and tasted her, needing more of her to sate himself.

Corinna gasped, shivering at the pleasure of his breath on her flesh as he took her nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking until she thought she would weep. Her knees spread a little further until he rested between her thighs, his shaft pressed against the inside of her leg.

"Corinna," he whispered.

"Don't stop," she breathed. "I don't want you to stop."

Her hips rose before he could answer. She slowly guided him, her breath catching in her throat as he entered, his lips crushed to hers.

Erik filled her completely and paused, his eyes closed and heart beating madly as he felt himself within her, her hands at his back and her legs locked around his hips. He buried his face against her neck and moved slowly, overwhelmed by the sensation, by how she smelled and moved with him, her hips meeting his, her fingers pressed firmly against his lower back. He felt her exhale against the right side of his face, her lips brushing kisses against his cheek as she called his name and sighed in ecstasy.

Making love to her overwhelmed his senses. As much as he wanted to pleasure her for hours he couldn't stop himself from climaxing swift and hard, his body shuddering suddenly as he thrust one last time into her welcoming body. Sparks of light danced behind his eyelids as a sense of perfect calm swam through his body. Erik rested his head on Corinna's shoulder until he was able to harness his breathing and realize what had happened.

He had made love to a woman, to flesh and blood, to someone real, who cared about him. The years of waiting and wanting were behind him. He felt more than physically satisfied. He felt complete in her arms.

As he rested, Corinna ran her fingers up and down his spine, grazing the old whip marks crisscrossing his back. Her actions made him increasingly uncomfortable. As quickly as the serene feeling that accompanied climax came to him it vanished.

Erik wanted to apologize for disappointing Corinna, as he was certain he hadn't brought her ease, hadn't given her what she had given him.

He pulled himself from her body, but did not want to face her. He feared she would be gravely disappointed in him. After all her years of searching he could do little to repay her, to prove how much he cared for her.

"Stay with me forever," she whispered as he rolled to his side. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly.

Corinna lay her head on his chest and snuggled in closely. Erik could feel the heat of her flesh and the smell of their joined bodies thick in the air. His eyes closed to her comforting warmth, his body suddenly leaden.

"I love you," Corinna said against his skin.

Guilt and shame stung him again as his failure to please her remained at the forefront of his thoughts.

"But I…you didn't…I wasn't…"

She hushed him with a kiss. "There are other ways," she murmured, lacing her fingers with his. "Many other ways to bring pleasure."

Erik drew her up beside him on the pillow and kissed her cheek and her neck, his lips trailing down to her collarbone. "How?" he asked.

"Are you willing to learn?' she teased, her eyes heavy-lidded, a seductive grin playing on her lips.

"I'd do anything for you," he answered as he kissed her down to her stomach.

Corinna bit her lip and moved his hand beneath the blankets. "Here," she said breathlessly.

Erik felt his ability slowly renewed, and from that moment on Corinna could no longer find her voice.


	53. Birth of a Phantom

WNoir54

Just as she had intended, Corinna had renewed Erik in the deepest, most intimate way possible. His health greatly improved through the remaining winter days, and by the time the snow melted and the first green leaves appeared he was stronger, happier, and no longer inclined to remain in solitude. His hair grew thicker, the weight he had lost during his weeks of wandering the darkest streets of Paris returned.

He now resembled the man Corinna had first met in London, the awkward but charming dark-haired Parisian who had escorted her to India.

Corinna kept a room separate from Erik's, though there were few nights that she woke alone in her room. She savored the feeling of his warm body against hers, his strong arms wrapped around her in the night, his soft breath on the back of her neck in the morning. He belonged to her. She could feel it in the form of butterflies in her stomach.

Traces of his discomfort remained, though Corinna knew he existed only because she had found him. That was all she had wanted. In time she hoped the memory of the years that had knifed through their happiness would disappear, that what had changed could still be undone. He was different and so was she.

Once the days grew warmer their afternoons were spent in the courtyard. Corinna kept birds in walk-in, steel-barred houses, though a peacock and peahen were allowed to strut freely through the garden. Corinna fed the birds or watered the flowers while Erik composed or sketched. All that mattered to her was that he was near. She saw his affection in his eyes when she glanced at him, though often a twinge of despair lingered in his gaze, and Corinna pushed her concerns into the farthest recesses of her mind. In time he would heal completely, she told herself.

At night they dined together, their meals prepared by two Indian servants who spoke broken French and English. Neither had any idea who Erik was,nor did they care,as long as they had food, shelter, and funds of their own.

"I haven't heard you play the organ all day. How are your compositions coming along?" Corinna asked over dinner one spring night.

"Fine," Erik nodded. He paused, stirred his soup and quietly added, "thank you."

Corinna smiled, satisfied with his response until she glanced at him and saw the uncertainty in his eyes. He looked away at once and his attention fell on the floral arrangement in the center of the table.

"What is it, my love?" she asked, placing her fork on the edge of her plate.

He said nothing at first, shaking his head in a transparent reply. It was the first time in months he had refused to answer her.

"You enjoy composing," Corinna asked, her tone more a question than a statement.

"Of course. It was my life," he mumbled.

She studied him for a moment, noticing how rigid he had become, how his lips had straightened and his eyes had moved from hers. He was distancing himself, withdrawing from her.

"_Was_ your life?"

Again Erik refused to answer and an uncomfortable silence fell over the dining room, one which Corinna could not manage to break. She watched Erik from the corner of her eye as he viciously cut through his food and bit it off his fork. Pain returned to his gaze, his attention fully focused on drink and food.

"If there is something—"

"It's worthless," he said suddenly, shoving his plate away. "A waste of time, a waste of energy, a waste…it's all a waste. Day after day, sheet after sheet, Corinna, and no one will ever purchase a single score."

"You cannot say that," she protested as she reached for his hand.

Erik pulled his hand away, which angered Corinna.

"Why would anyone bother? An unknown composer, no training, no background. Only a name, a dead name. It's over. My passion is over. My reason to write is…"

Her patience stretched too thin, Corinna rose from the table. She wanted to be his passion, his reason for writing, for breathing, for shedding the skin of a ghost. His words stung her. His words echoed that he loved her, but she was not his life.

"Your passion?" she snapped. "And what passion is that?"

Erik remained seated. He stared at his folded hands and lightly shook his head, refusing to continue a conversation that would only lead to an argument.

"Christine?"

Their eyes met briefly, Corinna daring him to answer her, Erik looking bewildered. He tore his gaze away and pushed back from the table.

"She was your passion," Corinna said as she crossed her arms and glared at the fresco wall. "She is still your passion. I care for you, I searched for you but you still want her. You will always want her."

The heat within the room increased, and Corinna exhaled hard, fanning her cheeks in irritation. She had never been so angry that she felt her blood temperature rise. She wanted to scream but her throat became painfully tight, and before she knew it there were tears in her eyes.

Corinna heard Erik walk around the table and for a moment she wanted him to quietly leave the dining room and return to his room. She was ashamed of her insinuations and fearful that she was correct.

His hands gripped her shoulders, weakening her knees, sending a rush of hot blood through her body. She felt like she was falling, like the floor had opened up and she was sinking, rushing, flying feet first to the center of the earth.

"It has nothing to do with Christine," Erik said.

Dark spots danced before her eyes, and the rush of warmth nosedived into bitter cold that encompassed her. Her body felt leaden, her knees weak and head spinning. In all of her life, Corinna had never felt anything like it before.

"I think…I need…to sit," she said before the world went black.

She had fainted, though for what reason Erik didn't know. One moment she was fine, the next moment angry and accusing, and the in the following moment she had passed out in his arms.

In the arms of a man she thought still loved another woman.

He had caught her before she hit the ground. For a long moment he had pressed her head against his shoulder and ran his hand over her head, embracing her in a protective hold that she couldn't feel.

Erik swept her into his arms and carried her to her room, resting her head against his chest. Unshed tears lingered on her long, black eyelashes. Tears he had caused.

"I will try," he whispered as he lay her down on her bed and covered her with a blanket. "I will try never to think of Christine again."

He sat beside Corinna on the bed but guessed she wouldn't want to find him there when she woke. Reluctantly he rose and found a chair, which he pulled up to the bedside. After he placed a cold, wet rag on her forehead, he removed his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and sat beside her, waiting for her to awaken.

She roused slowly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before she rested again, her head falling to the side.

"You are everything," he said as he turned the rag over. "You are the only life I want."

Erik touched her cheek and she sighed, her eyes opening again. She blinked at him, her face turning toward his caress.

"I should have followed you," she said under her breath as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"Rest," Erik said. "I don't want to upset you a moment longer."

Corinna closed her eyes as Erik rose and fetched her a glass of water. He helped her sit upright and brought the glass to her lips. Once she was finished, he placed an extra pillow behind her back and asked if she was warm enough.

"We saw you in the crowd after you left the carriage," she said, ignoring his suggestion that she rest.

Erik nodded, recalling how he had stumbled away in the darkness, his body bent and bruised, his head throbbing and the burns across his face and scalp raw and aching. He had forced himself to continue, to hold back the tears and the pain in his chest. For months he woke in the night to Corinna's pleas, to her screams for him to return.

"I begged my father to let me follow you, but he refused. He told me to stay in the carriage, to stay where I was safe. He told me it would be foolish to pursue a man who wanted to be left alone."

"He was correct," Erik said as he turned away to pour her another glass of water. "Or that's what I believed in those days."

"I would never have guessed that you would flee to the opera house," Corinna said as she shifted in bed. ''Though I suppose I had no idea where you would go."

Erik felt his stomach tighten. He longed for his mask again, for something to hide the source of his greatest anxiety. Instead he kept his back turned and his hands on the dresser.

"I returned home," he said. "I went to my mother and father's house that night but didn't have the courage to rap upon the door. I walked past several times and heard people talking and knew that it was true, that my mother had remarried."

Corinna did not reply, which made Erik turn to see if she was still listening to him or not. Their eyes met briefly before Corinna swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"You need your rest," Erik mumbled.

"Then sit with me," Corinna suggested.

Erik did as he was asked and joined her once more, unsure of whether or not she was angry with him still.

"You stayed with your mother?"

He shook his head, still refusing to look Corinna in the eye. "When I was too hungry and tired to be concerned about pride I knocked on the door. Her husband answered, drunk and stupid from the moment I first saw him. I attempted to explain who I was but he refused to listen. He started to shut the door but I pushed back. I had to see her. I wanted to know about my father."

Erik shuddered and ran his hands along his arms. He had not been close to his mother. He had not been close to his father, either, though they tolerated one another. His mother, however, had always resented him, telling him he was lazy and ungrateful. His hope that night was that when she saw her son was still alive she would allow him to live within her home until he was healed enough to find work.

"She never listened to me," Erik said softly. "She took one look at me and said that as far as she was concerned I was dead. Then she told me to leave."

Corinna inhaled sharply and took his hand in hers. Her dark eyes filled with tears again and she nodded solemnly, her lips quivering.

"I asked her where my father was buried and she refused to answer me. She told me to leave, her husband shoved me away from the entrance, and I fell before I heard the door slam shut.

"There was no other choice, so I left. I wandered for several days until I came upon the opera house. I don't know why, but I walked around to the back and wondered if I could find a way inside, a place where I could sleep just for the night. I was starving, exhausted, and my wounds were draining. I knew if I remained outside I would die."

She squeezed Erik's hand, reassuring him that he could continue, that she wanted to know what had become of him. When Erik looked into Corinna's eyes he realized that he wanted to tell her, to tell someone what had happened all those years ago.

"It was late at night when I found it. There were two doors open for the men to move grain into the stables for the horses. I waited until they were milling around and I entered, swift and silent until I was well below the surface of the earth. I had no idea what I was going to do, but there was a pile of rubbish near the lake, and within the refuse there was a bed and a dresser without a back. Stage props, I realized, but when one has nothing it no longer matters. It was a bed, it was a start. And it was mine."

He looked her in the eye, his face set in a frown. He could still recall how painful the burns were weeks after he had been set on fire. He took a straight razor, sat hunched over a dirty mirror, and scraped away the dead skin. It took hours to remove the useless flesh, hours of screaming and quivering and forcing his hand to move. Alone and feverish he tended the wounds, dousing his tender skin with wine to prevent infection and covering the injuries with cloth stolen from the seamstresses above.

Looking back, he had no idea how he had managed to survive. He was like a weed, ugly and unwanted but managing to survive without sunlight and warmth.

"It was only supposed to be for a night or two. I wanted enough time to heal, to regain my strength. But then I realized that I had what I needed. Shelter, clothing, food…music…all at my disposal."

"But you were alone," Corinna pointed out.

Erik shuddered again. He didn't speak for a long time after her comment. The first few weeks had been joyous. He savored the quiet, the stillness that allowed him to rest and recover. When the upper floors were quiet he wandered around and found food, which he stole from the store houses. His guilt lasted only for a few days, as he knew without sustenance he would die. It didn't seem to him that anyone noticed a missing loaf of bread or bottle of wine.

But then weeks turned into months and the communication he had lost with the rest of the world became more noticeable. There was weight to it, heaviness that settled on his shoulders as he paced the apartments he had created by the lake.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I was alone. Day and night, month after month I saw people from a distance and listened to performances from several floors below. I lost track of time, of day from night, and suddenly…suddenly I didn't know how to enter the world again. So I stayed. And once I made up my mind to stay there I heard someone say that there was a ghost haunting the catacombs. Once I realized I was the ghost I couldn't return to the world. Years had passed…and I was beyond lonely. I was desperate."

Corinna considered his words for a moment. He could see the thoughts forming in her eyes and knew what she would say to him. He waited, holding his breath as he stared at her and regretted the moment he had wandered beneath the Opera Poulaire.

"And then you saw her? Then you saw Christine Daae."

Erik closed his eyes and nodded. "Then I saw someone as lonely as I was. Then I saw someone I thought would listen. That was all I wanted. That was how it started."


	54. Forgetting the Past

_Thank you all for reading. There's a few more chapters and then Corinna, Erik, and their story will be complete. Please leave feedback! Thanks for reading!_

Noir54

As much as Erik wanted to erase Christine from his memory there was no mistaking how integral a part she had played in his life over the past fifteen years. Though she didn't know it she had kept him alive with her voice, with the promise of friendship, with the glimmer of hope that she could care for him.

Night after night he would come to her. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her away and so he remained behind the mirror, sending her nothing but his voice. Having no sense of day or night, he stayed with her for as long as she could keep her eyes open.

When he was certain that she slept he would tell her the same thing every night. "Sleep well, Christine. I love you, my angel."

Each time as he walked the corridors and stairs he promised himself that this was the last night he would masquerade as an angel. He hated lying to her but he was afraid she would recoil when she saw him, when she saw that he had a mask and cape, not wings and a halo. She would hate and fear him for lying to her for years.

Tomorrow, he said to himself each time he left her, tomorrow he would reveal himself as a man of flesh and blood. He would confess his sins to her and beg her forgiveness.

As he lay in bed alone he convinced himself that she would forgive him. She knew him despite never having seen his face. And she cared for him. There was no other way to explain how willing she had been to welcome him to her. Each day he reaffirmed his beliefs that she could love him. All he needed to do was show her the man behind the voice. He needed to make her aware of the person who lulled her to sleep and helped her train her voice.

She had been his only plan, his only focus other than his opera. She had been what made him want to wake, what put him to sleep with pleasant dreams. Christine Daae had been a deity, one that he worshipped faithfully for years.

Erik's thoughts of Christine dissipated as Corinna shifted closer to him. She placed her hand over his and he drew away, mortified by his memories concerning Christine. Months had passed since he had last seen her. She should no longer be on his mind. She had left him. In the end she had left him for her childhood sweetheart. He had wasted his years on her. As she had wasted her years on him.

"I won't think of her. I'll do everything in my power to forget her," Erik whispered. "From this day forward I swear to you, Corinna, I'll stop. I'll stop."

"You can't," she replied.

Erik exhaled hard. He shook his head. "I will. For you I will make myself forget her. I'll…I'll do anything, anything at all to forget who she was."

He saw Corinna shake her head before he turned and faced away from her. "It's not that simple," she said. "You cannot erase someone who was important to you."

"She's not important to me."

"I know how you felt for her. I was there when you were on stage together. Everyone felt it, the connection you felt with her, the way she felt for you—"

"She felt nothing for me."

"Erik, please. I know how much you loved her."

His eyes stung, his throat painfully constricting. After all the mistakes he had made in his life he couldn't allow Corinna to think that he still wanted Christine.

"It doesn't mean I don't love you. Because I do love you. If you knew how I felt for you—"

"I know how you feel for me," she said before he finished. "Each time you look at me, each time you say my name I can feel it. At night when you're beside me I know that you care for me."

Erik turned to face her and nodded, finding relief in her words. She smiled wanly and reached for his hand again, pulling him beside her in bed.

"There is something you should know," she said quietly as he rested beside her.

His stomach tightened, but he nodded nonetheless and moved her hair away from her face so that he could look into her eyes.

"You know how much I love you," she said as she inched closer. "You know how long I searched for you and you understand how I never gave up hope that I would find you."

"Yes," he answered, suddenly wanting her to just lay with him, to forget whatever she wanted to tell him. He avoided her gaze as he curled a strand of her hair around his finger.

"I love you more than anyone else," she said. "And I don't want to hurt you."

Erik's legs tensed. She was going to wound him worse than anyone else had ever done. He could see it in her eyes when he glanced at her, finding bravery for only a moment before his cowardice forced him to look away.

He wanted to get up and leave the room before she could continue, before she could twist the blade through his heart. She was going to leave him. She was going to tell him that she couldn't stay with him, that her search was in vain and that the years had been too long. He had changed too much for her to tolerate. The only woman who had given him something emotionally and physically was about to leave him.

Paralyzed by his deepest fears, Erik felt himself begin to shake. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out, to stop the howling he felt about to emerge from the deepest, darkest, most unhealed portion of his soul.

He forced his hand away, balled it into a fist, and braced himself for her final words.

"There was another," she said at last.

Erik's mouth dropped open. He exhaled, brow furrowed as he met her eye. "There was…another what?"

"Another. There was another person, another…man. In my life. Before you. I…was with him…intimately."

He had prepared himself so greatly for a death blow that he scarcely understood what she meant. He lay beside her completely speechless. She wasn't leaving him. She was confessing. She was being honest with him in a way he couldn't bring himself to be truthful with anyone.

"It was five years ago," she continued. "He was Indian and British, living in London when I first met him. We talked about Kali, about India and how we didn't feel welcome there because of our bloodlines. I came to him when I was lonely and we sat for hours in cafés. Then one day…I don't have an excuse. I thought I was in love with him. I thought I could love him, but all I could think of was that I needed to return to Paris because there was a story about the Opera Populaire and their suspicions and…" She took several deep breaths and closed her eyes, her arms crisscrossed over her chest. "It's unfair for me to be upset about Christine when I haven't been faithful to you."

Erik lay in perfect silence. She had been twenty-five when she had given herself to another. By all accounts she should have been married with children clinging to her knees at that age. She should have been someone's wife, someone's beautiful, happy wife. But she had remained unmarried, without children, without love.

"Please say something," Corinna said at last.

"I have nothing to say," he said blankly.

Corinna pursed her lips and nodded. "I'm sorry, Erik."

"For what?" he asked as he adjusted his pillow beneath his head.

She looked uncomfortable as she lay beside him, and Erik noticed for the first time that she had moved further away.

"I didn't wait for you," she said sadly.

Her words made him smile. "You're here now," he replied.

Corinna began to cry as she rolled closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder and he held her tightly finding he didn't feel the bitter sting of jealousy when she said she had loved another. Her past didn't matter, which gave him hope that Corinna was not concerned about his affection for Christine, either. They were together now and that was all that concerned him.

Cupping her face in his hands, Erik brushed her tears away and kissed her on the lips.

"You are everything to me," he whispered. 'Everything important to me."

She kissed him back and moved in closer until her leg was between his and her fingers were slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He felt the warmth of her fingers graze his chest as he wriggled from his shirt and settled in closer to her, deftly unlacing her dress.

"You're the only one I want to be with," she said between kisses. "You're the only man I ever want in my life."

Erik broke away from her kisses and searched her face. "You're…you're the only one I've ever…loved like this," he said, feeling sweat bead on his brow.

She understood his meaning and nodded, unwilling to talk when she had him so close to her. She pressed her bare stomach to his and ran her foot down his pant leg. "I need you. I need to feel you."

Her words instantly aroused him, and he deepened their kiss as they struggled to undress one another, both refusing to allow their lips to part. Corinna braced his shoulders, easing him onto his back, her hands holding his wrists.

"Let me do this," she said once he tensed.

She wanted control. Before he had the opportunity to agree or disagree she mounted him, her hands moving to his chest as she eased onto his hips. He couldn't help but watch her as she made love to him. His wide hands gripped her hips, ventured along her stomach where his thumb circled her belly button, fingers stroking the hardened curve of her abdomen. He traced along her ribs and explored her breasts as the tempo of their lovemaking increased, as she danced closer and closer to climax. With each breath he surrendered and allowed her dominance, allowed her to show him how she loved him.

Watching her brought him ease, and as she sat hard against his hips he climaxed deep within her, hearing her cry out softly as she lowered onto him. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her deeply as he ran his hands through her hair. She was his. There was no other man that would claim her and he knew when he looked into her eyes that there was no woman he would ever think was as beautiful as she.

"Marry me," he said suddenly.

Corinna looked at him, startled by his words.

"Yes," she said without question as she rested in his arms. She giggled softly as she kissed him again. "When?"

"Today."

"There's only an hour left of this day."

"Call a priest."

Corinna laughed as she looked him in the eye and shook her head. "Tomorrow," she breathed into his ear. "Tomorrow night. Here. In our home."

Erik nodded. "I'll buy you a ring in the morning."

"I have a ring. My mother's wedding band. I would like to wear it."

He kissed her again. "Then I will put your mother's ring on your finger and make you my wife."

"There's nothing I want more in the world than to be your wife."

And those were the words he had lived to hear.


	55. New Life

Sorry about the delay! I'm hoping to have Noir completed in the next 14 days.

Noir56

Erik slept with his face against Corinna's perfumed hair and one hand on her bare hip. He lay awake long after her breathing evened out, long after he had raked his fingers through her hair and replayed her answer again and again.

She was going to be his wife. Without question, without threats, without conniving she had smiled and agreed to marry him.

There was nothing she wanted more.

Her words made him wonder how different the last fifteen years could have been if he had been man enough to remain in her company. Would he be a father? Would they have remained in France?

Erik ran his hand lovingly up her side and thought if they were to ever conceive he would want a daughter, a little titian-skinned girl with almond eyes like her mother. He didn't feel the need, the urge to continue his family name the way some men desired a son. The name Levesque stood behind a shadow, a dark cloud that had grown more prevalent after his father killed himself in the church.

_I could make it respectable again_, he thought as his fingers brushed past Corinna's stomach. _For her,_ he thought. He would do anything for Corinna.

His caresses roused her, and with a sigh she turned over and faced him. Her eyes fluttered open, barely visible in the room, since the fire had diminished as the hour grew later.

"Are you awake?" he asked.

She grunted and nestled her head against his chest, kissing him softly where old scars littered his flesh. Her breath against his skin made him shiver with pleasure. Each stroke of her hand, each peck of her lip made him understand what joys of the flesh meant.

"You should be asleep," Corinna murmured. Her arm wrapped around to his back and drew him closer until his bare stomach and chest touched hers. "You feel so warm."

"Were you cold?" he whispered.

"No, I don't think so. I was dreaming."

"Good dreams?" he asked as he kissed her forehead.

He was so tired that he didn't expect her to arouse him. When he had lay behind her, his body fitting perfectly against hers, he kept telling himself to fall asleep. She would be there in the morning and each morning he woke for the rest of his life. Knowing she would be with him forever made him want her even more, though he didn't want her to think that his only desire for her was primal. From the moment he first realized his feelings for her she had meant more to him than mere coupling. She was his partner, his friend. His best friend, he thought.

His only real friend, he admitted, and the power behind that revelation had brought tears to his eyes.

"Good dreams," she said. She chuckled when he inched closer and fit his lips against hers, his tongue pushing past her lips. "But this is better than any dream."

It was impossible to hide his most intimate needs when she lay with her knees against his, her hips touching his. Her hand reached between their bodies and she touched him intimately.

"Are you tired?" Corinna asked as she draped her leg over his. She tormented him with an offering he wanted to accept without question.

Erik swallowed, prodding her gently but not yet taking what he suddenly felt he couldn't live without. "Are you tired?"

She laughed again, legs parting further. Her voice dropped low and husky, her eyes heavily lidded, lips parting in a seductive smile. "I asked you first."

"Not tired enough," he answered. He entered her, sinking into her before pulling out completely. The feel of her body accepting his sent a surge through his insides. She made his senses reel with more pleasure than he thought one man could experience in a lifetime. "And you?"

"I was asleep," she teased. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders, her frustrations and growing need becoming more evident. She sabotaged his self-control and pressed the head of his manhood to her center.

"Are you…sore?" he asked, knowing her pleasure was much different than his own. If she said she wanted to sleep he would leave her be, though deep inside he knew it would mean spending the night in a separate bed. And the more he felt her breaths on his neck and her fingers against his flesh he knew she wanted the same thing.

"No," she breathed, shuddering as he settled into her again.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice so strained that he wasn't sure if she heard him or not. It slowly killed him to pull out but he didn't want to harm or frighten her. He had wasted enough years doing terrible thing. Corinna made him strive to be a good man. "Tell me, Corinna. Tell me if I hurt you."

She shook her head and positioned herself, silently begging him. "You are gentle when you love me."

Her words made the blood pulse faster through his veins. Erik's arms slid beneath Corinna and he drew her in closer, capturing her lips again as he sank into her, filling her completely.

They made love side by side, slow and sensual, each clinging to the other in a way that was more than physically satisfying. Their kisses were long and languid, drawn out to match their easy pace.

Corinna cupped his face in her hands, and Erik's caress moved from her hips and sides up to her breasts as her legs locked around his waist. The moment he touched her breasts she gasped and drew his hands away.

Still coupled, Erik stopped, his eyes opening in alarm. It wasn't a gasp of pleasure, he knew. Her body had tensed and he felt her wince. He had hurt her. In some way he didn't understand he had caused her injury.

"Corinna?" he questioned, not knowing if he should touch her anywhere.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

She shook her head, her hips moving, her body refusing to allow the night to come to an end.

"But you…"

"I'm a little sore," she whispered. "But I'm fine. It's only natural."

His expression showed that he didn't believe her. He briefly kept his hands against her hips, but after several moments his arousal vanished, replaced at once by concern.

Corinna sighed and propped her head up. She took his hand in hers, kissed his knuckles, and pressed his palm flat to her abdomen.

"It's only natural," she said again.

"You're sore here too?" he asked obtusely, his brow furrowed. "I asked—"

Corinna rolled to her back and released a hearty laugh. She clapped her hand on her forehead and ran her palm down to her chin. "Erik, for months we have made love," she said, peering at him. She sighed and grinned widely. "Did you think nothing would happen?"

His lips parted in astonishment. "Happened?" he whispered, her words registering at last.

Corinna nodded. "Happened."

"When?" he asked, his lips curling into a smile. He held his hand against her hardened belly again, gently caressing what felt like a grapefruit beneath her skin. That grapefruit belonged to him. "Do you know when? How long have you known? Are you feeling ill? Do you need something?"

"Slow down," Corinna giggled.

"You're…you're certain?"

"Certain," she said, hands clasped behind his neck. Her smile widened when he looked into her eyes. "I forgot the rest of the questions."

His hands began to tremble as he massaged her belly, giving her goose bumps as he lay on his side and stared at her in wonder. This beautiful woman would not only be his wife. She was already the mother of his child.

"How long have you known?" he asked again.

"I've suspected for about two months," she said nonchalantly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Through his joy he felt a small pang of sadness, unsure of whether or not she trusted him.

Corinna placed her hand over his and looked into his eyes again. "I wanted to surprise you on our wedding night," she said gently.

"But what if I hadn't asked…?"

"I still know you after all these years," she whispered, kissing his cheek. She laughed when he kissed her back. "And if you hadn't asked me, my dear, I may have been forced to ask you."

"How are you feeling? In general. Are you ill? Are you uncomfortable?"

"I'm a little tired, but it's expected."

"Should we…stop?" he asked. "Should I sleep elsewhere?"

Her eyes twinkled. "What would be the use of that?" she grinned.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't want to deny you," she answered.

Erik shook his head. "My needs are secondary. Your comfort, your well-being comes before mine."

Corinna held him tighter and kissed him again. "You're good to me, Erik. I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured, his eyes still drawn to her stomach. It wouldn't be obvious for several weeks, but the idea of her belly swelling made his heart race. His face straightened as his mind reeled with the possibilities of their life together.

He had no way of knowing for certain, but he wanted to believe Corinna had conceived on their first night together. He could think of nothing better than two blessings combined. She had given him her body and soul, and she would give him a child.

"Are you happy?" Corinna asked. She ran her fingers down his cheeks and along his lips, drawing his eyes back to her face. "If you aren't happy, if it's too soon…"

He answered her with a kiss and lay the palm of his hand over her stomach, caressing the gentle swell. "Today you will be my wife, Corinna. Together we will be a family."

She nodded and hugged him tightly, kissing his lips and his face, rousing him again.

They lay for a long while in silence when they were satisfieed, both tangled in each other's arms, both sharing the same joy.

Before Erik's eyes closed at last he felt Corinna nuzzle his neck.

"I dreamed," she whispered. "Of our daughter."


	56. Unexpected

Noir56

"You're very fortunate," Ursula said as she stood behind Corinna and fastened the last button at the top of her old wedding dress. "I'll take in the bust a little, but other than that it's a perfect fit."

Corinna beamed at her own reflection. The neckline was a bit mature for her taste, but the moment she had donned the gown and glanced in the mirror she had tears in her eyes. At last she was going to marry Erik Levesque, the one man she had truly loved all of her life.

While she studied her reflection Corinna couldn't help but run her hand over her belly. She had a small bump on her abdomen, but in the ivory dress with its pearl embellishments no one would notice. She didn't care if the priest was aware of her condition. Nothing could ruin her merriment as long as Erik stood beside her.

"You look like an angel," Ursula whispered as she smoothed Corinna's hair. "I don't think I looked this good in my dress. You make me jealous, my dear."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course you looked this good in your dress. You didn't have to take the bust in," Corinna smiled. She turned and took Ursula by the hands. "Thank you for being here with me. I couldn't do this without you. Neither of us could do this without you here."

"I wanted to be here with you, with both of you, Corinna. All these years…you haven't been the only one who wondered where he was or how he was doing. I'm very happy for you, and I know your father would feel the same," Ursula replied.

Corinna dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. She hadn't thought of her father in a while but had planned to leave flowers by the small memorial she had built for him.

"He would have been a good grandfather," she said sadly.

"And you will be a good mother. Now, you rest while I take care of this dress. And eat something."

Corinna sighed. "I couldn't possibly rest," she said as she wriggled out of the dress. "And I'm far too excited to eat."

Ursula cocked her head to the side while Corinna dressed. "You must eat and you must get your rest. Trust me."

With a devilish smile Corinna nodded. "I suppose I'll need my energy for my wedding night."

Though a laugh escaped, Ursula rolled her eyes. "I think you've had quite enough of Monsieur Levesque. I expect you both to behave yourselves and do nothing more than kiss each other goodnight. He must learn to give you more privacy now that you are with child."

"I don't want him to become a stranger. I want him with me every night and morning," Corinna said dreamily.

"Spoken like a woman truly in love. Now come down from that cloud of yours and go to your room. I want you to lie down for a while and rest yourself. I'll wake you when your dress is ready and you can try it on again."

Corinna knew protesting was futile. She smiled and returned to her room where she found Erik waiting for her by the window.

Even though he wasn't dressed for the ceremony yet, Corinna couldn't help but think he looked handsome in his white lawn shirt and black trousers. With his long legs and trim hips all the way to his broad shoulders, the sight of him made Corinna's heart beat faster. She could barely stand to see his arms and not feel them around her.

In a matter of hours she would have him for the rest of her life.

"My love," Corinna grinned.

"I'm not supposed to see you," he said without turning. "It's bad luck."

"I don't believe in superstitious nonsense," she replied as she danced across the floor and placed her hands on his hips.

Erik turned his face and kissed her on the lips, closing his eyes so that he still didn't see her.

"You are superstitious," she chuckled as she wiggled beneath his arm.

"Cautious," he corrected her. "I'm cautious."

They stood and stared at the courtyard, neither one of them speaking. Corinna could hear Erik breathing hard and knew he was much more nervous than she was. This morning before they left her bed he had asked how many people she wanted at the ceremony.

In her dreams she had always expected to be wed before a large crowd, but with her family in India and few friends in France, she was content with Ursula and her husband witnessing the ceremony. The news seemed to please Erik, whom she knew was not comfortable leaving his home. In time she hoped he would change his mind, but for now all she wanted was to be with him. She felt no reason to ask him to travel to Paris, especially when she feared for his safety.

As they stood with their arms around one another Corinna felt Erik flexing and releasing his hand over and over. She rested her head on his chest and grunted.

"Why did you come here if you didn't want to see me?" she whispered.

"I didn't know you would return so soon. I wanted to be near everything that reminded me of you."

Corinna squeezed him tighter. "Such a romantic, my love."

He closed his eyes again and kissed her on the forehead. "My sweet wife," he whispered.

"Almost," she sighed. She looked up at him standing with his eyes closed. The scars no longer looked as ghastly as they had the first time she had seen him. She wondered if walking around without the mask helped, allowing his skin to breathe freely.

"Not soon enough," Erik said as he ran his fingers down her spine.

Her smile widened. Even if he didn't open his eyes he knew her well enough to make her melt in his arms. All of Ursula's suggestions left her the moment Corinna kissed Erik again.

"You aren't going to open your eyes, are you?"

"Not until you leave," he answered with a chuckle.

"Ah, but Monsieur Levesque, this is my room in which you are intruding," she said as she poked him in the chest.

"Very true," he answered, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Corinna pulled away. "Keep your eyes closed," she said as she padded across the room and shut her bedroom door.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She answered with a chuckle as she wrapped her arms around him from behind and kissed his shoulder. He sighed deeply and lifted his arm to pull her into his embrace.

"We shouldn't," he said, his eyes tightly squeezed shut.

She giggled at his playfulness and couldn't help but play along. His sense of humor was slowly starting to unfurl and yet another facet of the man she had known so long ago revealed itelf.

"I should punish you for trespassing in my room," Corinna teased. She kissed his neck and his ear, her lips parting enough to exhale on his skin.

"This," he said, "is punishment indeed, my sweet little wife."

Corinna closed her eyes, enjoying her new title. She couldn't wait until he said it again when they stood in this room as husband and wife on their wedding night.

Erik cupped her face in both hands. "Rest. I will see you in a few hours," he said before he turned away and left her for the remainder of the day.

-o-

Corinna had no recollection of the time that passed after Erik left her to rest. She barely remembered donning her dress once more and holding a bouquet of lilies while Ursula placed a comb in her hair.

"Are you ready?" Ursula asked as she opened Corinna's bedroom door and led her into the hall.

"Yes, I think so," Corinna replied.

She felt prepared until she saw the doorway to the parlor open. This was it. This was what she had waited a decade and a half for.

"He's…he's in there, isn't he?" Corinna whispered.

"Of course," Ursula said gently as she nudged Corinna forward. "Can't you hear him playing the piano for you?"

The sound of music drew her forward, lightening her every step, clearing her mind of all apprehension. Her eyes closed momentarily to the gentle, soothing melody. Each note magnetized her as though she were being pulled into his embrace. Through sound she could almost feel his hand against her back and his voice leading her forward.

The song ended just as Corinna entered the parlor and found the priest standing with Ursula's husband beside him. Both men looked to the doorway as Corinna entered with Ursula behind her.

The room faded away. Her eyes were on Erik, who rose from the piano bench and stared at her, his mouth agape.

The first thing she noticed was that he was wearing his mask.

Her heart sank.

Everything she had wanted seemed to fade away.


	57. A Life Spent in Darkness

_One more chapter! Thank you all for reading about Erik and Corinna! _

Noir57

Erik had not expected to see such sorrow in Corinna's eyes. He could see the unspoken words in her dark gaze, feel her emotions pulsing through her veins as they stood before one another, on the brink of their lives together.

Her words were unmistakable.

_You promised me. _

In her presence he hadn't thought much of his mask. It had taken several days to adjust to walking about without it. He was used to donning it from the moment he woke until he finally retired for the day. Even though no one saw him, he felt more secure when he wore his mask. It prevented him from glancing in the mirror and seeing how hideous he had become.

Somehow Corinna didn't seem to notice the scars. She saw what he was inside, and that was a man he had long since forgotten. Each time she looked in his eyes he saw another fragment of himself that had been misplaced by time and solitude.

When he lay beside her in bed with one hand over her hardened belly he wondered where the years had gone. It was the first time he had considered how many years had passed.

While he nuzzled her neck, she placed her hand over the scars and caressed him gently. Her acceptance made him shiver. Even after months together Erik still found himself mesmerized by her caress. He wasn't sure how he had lived so long without any form of human contact, but he realized how miserable he had truly been beneath the opera house. Music had been his life and would always be integrated into his day, but he loved Corinna more than he loved composing or playing.

It was then, in the peaceful hours of night, that he knew what he had to do.

"May we begin?" the priest asked.

Erik glanced from the old man to Corinna, who looked as though she was close to tears. She nodded quickly and stared at their joined hands, uncertainty filling her gaze.

"I believe this man has a few words for this woman," the priest continued as he took a step back.

Corinna looked bewildered as she gazed into Erik's eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked under her breath.

"Trust me," he said in her ear as he lifted her veil.

Her bottom lip trembled, but she nodded and allowed him to continue.

"You have no idea," Erik said quietly as he drew Corinna's hands to his lips. "And you will never know what darkness I have seen. Last night, when there were clouds before the moon and the curtains were drawn, I could barely see you in the night, but it wasn't dark to me. When you are with me it is never dark."

He kissed her trembling hands again, running his chin over her knuckles. "For a very long time—too long, I think, darkness wasn't lack of light. It was being alone, and before I saw you again I knew I would die alone in the opera house vaults or on the streets. No one would ever know that I had lived because I was nothing more than a mask."

Corinna brought his hands to her lips and kissed his fingers where her tears fell. A sob escaped as she squeezed his hand tightly.

Erik paused to wipe her tears away.

"All I could think of last night was how it feels when I'm with you. When I look at you, when I feel you beside me I realize how much of me had been missing. It sounds ridiculous," he said as he shook his head, "but it's true."

Corinna bit her lip as she reached up and touched the left side of his face. She was pleading with him to remove the mask, begging him to reveal himself to her. More than anything she wanted to see his face, the face of the man she had fallen in love with.

Erik smiled weakly, refusing her a moment longer. "When I saw you walk into this room today I knew I would feel nothing but elation for the rest of my life," he said, withdrawing his right hand from her grasp. "This is our home, and today I want nothing more than to start my life with you." He paused to smooth away another tear. "You make me feel like I belong somewhere. It's been a long time since I've felt that way…I don't know if I've ever felt that way, Corinna."

She nodded, unable to keep from crying at his words.

He turned away slightly and placed his hand over the right side of his face. "I love you, Corinna," he continued as he faced her again. "For being my closest friend and for becoming my wife today."

Corinna smiled through the tears streaming down her face as Erik removed his mask and placed it on the desk that had been shoved against the wall. The moment he faced her again she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you too, Erik. More than anything," she whispered into his ear.

The priest cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him. "May we continue?"

They both nodded, and with Ursula and her husband looking on, the priest began the wedding ceremony.

-o-

The ceremony passed in a blur of shy smiles and soft chuckles as Erik and Corinna repeated the priest's words. Corinna thought she would die from happiness as Erik slid her mother's ring onto her finger and promised her a lifetime of love and fidelity. She couldn't imagine a more blissful moment, but then the priest told Erik to kiss his bride.

Ursula couldn't help but applaud as Erik lifted Corinna from her feet and kissed her full on the lips. The newlyweds smiled at one another, softly kissing again before they faced their guests for the first time as husband and wife.

"I'm so happy for both of you," Ursula said as her husband shook Erik's hand. It was the first time they had met, but Corinna overheard Ursula's husband, Suraji, tell Erik that he felt like he knew him since he had heard so much from his wife.

"Good things, I hope," Erik replied nervously.

"Good things," Suraji replied. "And my Ursula promises that there is still hope for me to master the piano."

The men spoke briefly while Ursula straightened Corinna's dress.

"We'll be in the dining room," Ursula said. "Before these two forget that we're here for your wedding, not music lessons."

Ursula hugged Erik and kissed Corinna before she and Suraji left the parlor for the dining room. Once they were left alone, the reality of the day set in and Corinna stood speechless.

"Do you need to sit down?" Erik asked as he placed the back of his hand to her forehead.

"No, I'm feeling fine. It's just…"

"What? What is it?" he asked, his concern evident in his tone.

"We're married," Corinna whispered as she squeezed Erik tighter. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed his earlobe. "We're really married."

Erik smiled down at her, amused by her mirth. "My beautiful wife," he said as he caressed her cheek. "My beautiful, sweet wife."

She rested her head against his chest and sighed, savoring their moment alone. "Madame Erik Levesque. I do love the sound of that, don't you?"

As he took her by the hand, Erik kissed Corinna again. He glanced at her ring finger and couldn't help but kiss her again. "I like the sound of being with you forever, Madame Levesque," he said in her ear.

They joined their guests in the dining room and enjoyed a quiet supper by candlelight.

Though Suraji wanted to join Erik in the parlor for an after-dinner drink, Ursula shook her head.

"Another time," Ursula said to Suraji as Erik and Corinna led them to the front door. She hugged Corinna one last time. "We will have your gift sent tomorrow."

"You shouldn't have," Corinna replied.

Ursula cocked her head to the side. "No more from you. I'll tell your husband to discipline you, my dear."

They shared a laugh before Ursula and Suraji said their goodbyes. They wished the new couple good luck and walked into the courtyard where they entered their waiting carriage.

"You look beautiful," Erik said as they stood in the foyer.

"This dress is not as comfortable as it is beautiful," Corinna said as she slid her fingers beneath his cravat and undid the top button.

Erik stepped back and looked her up and down.

"What are you doing?" Corinna questioned.

Erik shook his head and smiled. "Enjoying my wife," he replied.

A devilish twinkle entered Corinna's dark eyes. "I think you should take your wife to bed now," she murmured as she grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs.


	58. The Price of a Deity

This is it! Thanks to everyone for beta reading, following the story making suggestions and leaving reviews.

Gabrina (Everspring Native)

Noir58

On the morning following their wedding, Corinna awoke in the predawn light and savored the feeling of the man asleep beside her. She replayed his whispers in her mind as she watched him sleep. Every action had been tender yet firm, caressing and claiming her with each passionate kiss and gentle touch.

"No other man," he had said, more to himself than to her, "will ever touch you."

It had excited her to hear his words and feel his hands run down her back. He felt stronger on their wedding night, more confident than he had ever felt before—even before the Sultana scarred him.

From the moment they had reached his bedroom he had taken command. There was no trace of the man who had first come to her in the slums, begging and pleading for some of her time. Now it was her turn to surrender to him, and there was no other man in the world she wanted to be with for the rest of her life.

While he slept, Corinna ran her fingers through his hair and studied his face. He looked more at peace than she remembered. She wasn't sure if she had grown used to him or if the scars didn't look as bad as when he had kept his face constantly masked. She traced along his jaw line with her index finger until she touched his bottom lip.

He murmured in his sleep, waking briefly to find her beside him.

"Stop," he grunted. "It tickles."

She kissed his neck. "I apologize, my dear."

"Why are you awake?" he groaned.

She kissed his forehead. "I'm thirsty. I'm going to get a drink of water. Would you like something?"

With a smile he said he was tired and closed his eyes again. Once he was asleep she rose from bed, tied her robe in place, and padded into the hall with a candle in hand.

Rather than walk to the kitchen she entered her own bedroom, set the candle on her desk, and opened the bottom drawer.

It had been weeks since she had opened the drawer and taken her carved wooden jewelry box from its place. She hesitated, unsure of whether or not she wanted to touch the small statue.

The last thing she wanted to do was upset the true Goddess, so with a smile she lifted the carving of Kali and brought it to the candlelight.

Caressing the small black statue, she whispered, "Thank you, Kali," before replacing it and entering Erik's bedchamber again.

He was awake when she returned, which startled her.

"Did you say you were getting something?" he asked as he ran his hand through his hair.

She crawled into bed again and kissed his lips. "Water." She paused, searching his eyes. "You look worried."

Erik shook his head and lay down again, bringing Corinna with him. He held her tightly for a while and stroked her hair, unwilling to release her. The look in his eyes worried her.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said softly.

"I couldn't remember if you had said something or if it was a dream."

Corinna wondered if he feared that their wedding was also a dream. Perhaps he had awakened alone and thought he was in the opera house—or tied to a tree like the day her father had found him, the wounds to his face fresh. Looking at him now reminded her of that day, of how frightened she had been when her father told her to stay put as he and the daroga cut him down and dragged his beaten body into the carriage.

Corinna had seen more terror in his left eye than she had ever seen in her life. That terror resonated now as he nervously raked his fingers through her hair.

"Now you look worried," Erik said as he ran his fingers along her cheek.

Corinna smiled and took his hand in hers, feeling him tremble. "Worried? We're on our honeymoon," she said as she kissed him again. "Why would I be worried?"

He held her close but said nothing, and after a while Corinna thought he had fallen asleep again. Just when she was ready to close her eyes he spoke suddenly.

"I promised you an opera."

Corinna propped herself up on her elbow. "You did?"

He nodded. "Verdi," he answered. "When we were in Chandernagore. We never went to the opera."

She ran her hand over his chest and stomach, feeling him twitch when her fingers skimmed over his bellybutton. "I remember when a flower sang to me," she smiled. "I think that was the moment I fell in love with you."

"I had nothing to do with that," he said, attempting to hold back a grin. "The flowers in India are evidently very talented."

"Evidently," Corinna replied. "Why do you mention the opera?"

"Have you ever been to Italy?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever seen an opera there?"

Corinna shook her head. She kissed him again and studied his eyes, seeing the glint of excitement in his gaze. "Are you asking me if I would like to attend the opera in Italy?"

He hesitated. "I want to do something for you," he whispered as he turned to his side and placed his hand over her stomach. "Before you give me this child."

"You would be comfortable?" she asked, attempting to hold back her surprise.

"No," he chuckled. "I would most likely drink an entire bottle of wine before we arrived."

Corinna shook her head. "I don't want you to torment yourself."

"I miss the stage," he replied. "But here…I don't want anything to happen, and not only to me. I fear what would happen to you if someone recognized me. Or to our child. I worry about you."

"There is no need to worry."

"While we're in France I will always worry," he mumbled before drawing the blankets up and snuggling Corinna in close to him. She felt him reach beneath the covers and tug at the robe on her belt.

"Then let's leave France," she suggested. "Before the baby comes."

"This is your house."

"This is _our_ house, but I don't care. As long as we're together we could live…at the bottom of the sea, on the moon, wherever. All that matters is being near you. We can have another house commissioned. Italy, Germany, anywhere you want."

"No, it would cause too much stress."

"I'm not fragile, Erik. Besides, it would be far worse if I worried about you."

"You should not worry about me," he murmured.

"Why?"

He went quiet again and shook his head, but Corinna nudged him in the arm.

"When you first came to me, on the night I took you home, you had a bruise on the side of your neck."

Erik exhaled hard, unwilling to speak. He turned his face away, but Corinna placed her hand on his cheek and forced him to look at her.

"I worry about you. I worry that someone will come for you, that one day I will lose you."

Erik drew her closer and kissed her on the lips to prevent her from speaking. "Italy," he said. "When I finish my next opera we'll travel to Italy. I've been considering hiring someone to write the libretto."

She settled in beside him and sighed. "Someday, I would like to see New York," she murmured before they both fell silent and drifted off to sleep again.

-o-

When Erik woke late in the morning the first thought on his mind was travel. He had been stagnant for far too long, and the years spent in the opera house left him longing to stretch his legs and see the world.

Things would be much different. There would always be a chance that someone would recognize him, but still he would feel safer abroad. Their lives would be better outside of France. Their days would be more peaceful the farther they were from Persia.

With the full light of day pouring in through the window he smiled as he watched Corinna. His hand rested against his neck where the bruise had healed months ago and he decided what he had to do for her.

When she had asked him about the injury he had shuddered, knowing it would upset her. After Ari Nadir had helped him Erik assumed the daroga had no idea he was being followed. The man who had punched Erik in the neck had thought he had found an advantage, but when he reached back to withdraw his saber, he didn't see the lasso whip from the shadows. With blood seeping from the wounds to his neck and his windpipe crushed, the man would be strangled within minutes.

His concern at the time had been escape and that's what he had done.

In the months he had found Corinna there had been immense tranquility. Erik's only true solace was knowing that if these men still wanted him they would have found him by now.

Erik ran the back of his hand along Corinna's cheek. "Are you hungry?" he whispered when she stirred.

Her eyes slit open as she rolled to her side and placed her hand on the small of his back, drawing herself closer to him.

"I'm too warm and comfortable to move."

"Then stay here. I'll bring you something."

Corinna squeezed his hand and shut her eyes again. "Stay with me a little longer."

"You need to eat something," he replied, running his hand over her abdomen.

Corinna made no protest, and once he donned his shirt and ventured into the kitchen he found breakfast already made. Their servant, Pamela, said "Good morning, new husband," when she saw him.

"Thank you," he replied in Tamal as he took the tray from the kitchen table.

"No, no, I take," Pamela said as she shook her hand at him.

With a nod Erik left the kitchen, but Pamela called after him. He turned and found her standing behind him with two packages.

"One from us," she said, referring to herself and her husband. "Other outside."

"From Ursula," he said as he took the gifts from her. "She didn't knock?"

"No one there. I see it when I come in."

"I will tell Corinna," he replied before returning upstairs.

When he returned to his bedchamber Corinna was asleep again. He debated on whether or not to wake her. As quietly as he could he left the gifts on the dresser and sat on the bed. He lay beside her and rubbed her back, which woke her almost immediately.

"I'm starving," she murmured before she sat up. "The moment you left I was ravenous."

"Pamela said she would bring food up to us," he told her. "But they gave us something for our wedding. And Pamela found Ursula's gift outside the front door."

Corinna rubbed her eyes and sat upright. "Outside the door?"

Erik nodded. "They must have returned late last night and left it."

He watched her as she rose from bed and walked lightly across the floor. She grinned as she grabbed both packages and brought them to the bed.

"Here," she said, handing him the larger of the two.

"Am I opening or holding?" he asked.

Corinna giggled to herself. "They're my presents. I only want you to hold them," she said as she leaned over and kissed him.

"Ah, Madame, you did not hear when the priest said honor and obey."

"I heard," she said. "But I crossed my fingers during that part."

Erik sighed and shook his head. "I should have assumed as much."

Corinna opened her gift and found a carved wooden box. "A wish box," she said, showing the box to Erik. "In India you give these as gifts and place money or tokens inside. Isn't it beautiful?"

Erik nodded and wrapped his arm around her. "It was nice of them."

"Open yours," Corinna told him.

He glanced at her to be certain she was serious before he tugged the bow off and removed the paper. Beneath was a plain wooden box, which was sealed.

"There's a knife in my desk drawer," Erik said as he climbed to his feet and took the box with him.

The box rattled as he set it on the desk and found the knife. While Corinna remained in bed he pried the nails out. "It must be important to be nailed shut," he commented over his shoulder as he lifted the lid.

"What is it?" Corinna asked.

Erik lifted a velvet bag from the box, hearing glass rattle inside.

"A vase, I think," he said as he tugged the drawstring open. Digging inside, he produced a sealed carafe and showed it to her before reaching into the bag again.

"Is it filled?"

The carafe slipped from his grasp and shattered on the ground the moment he felt the slender piece of wood in his hand. Erik stared at the broken glass a moment before releasing the velvet bag and the paintbrush it contained.

"Erik?" Corinna questioned as she rose from the bed. "Are you alright?"

"She knows," he whispered blankly as the smell of kerosene filled the room.

"Who?"

"The Sultana." He inhaled sharply and grabbed Corinna by the arms. "Dress immediately. Take what little you need and meet me downstairs."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Corinna, we must leave now. Please, you must make haste."

"What happened?" she asked as she sniffed the air. "Is that…? It's kerosene."

He nodded and led her toward her wardrobe, his skin prickling with the memory of torture.

"She's coming for me. Take what you must and meet me downstairs. I'll not have her find you."

Before she agreed Erik tore down the stairs and entered the courtyard, the knife still in hand. He looked at the blue sky, which he hadn't seen in years, and at the trees beginning to bloom.

This was the last time he would see France, he thought as he stalked toward the stable.

He had no remorse in leaving.

-o-

Corinna gathered her clothes as well as Erik's and tossed them into a cloth sack. With tears in her eyes and her hands trembling, she glared at the two items she left unpacked.

"Corinna!" Erik yelled.

His voice startled her, but she forced herself to answer. "One moment."

Turning back to the bed, she grabbed his mask in one hand and took her statue of Kali in the other.

"I hate you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I hate both of you for what you steal from me."

And with her words she tossed them both into the sack and met Erik at the bottom of the stairs.

"Where will we go?" she asked as he hurried her out the door.

"I'm not certain."

"Are you certain she knows?"

Erik made no reply. He stared straight ahead, his gaze filled with worry.

"Perhaps…perhaps it's a mistake."

He turned to her quickly, his lips parted, his expression apologetic. "New York," he said simply.

Taking his hand in hers, they abandoned their home.

Together.

The End.


	59. Sorinji

_This is the last chapter for Goddess Noir, but Erik and Corinna will have a new story in a few weeks. I don't have a title for it just yet, so watch for a new story popping up probably in late December or early January 2006. This is a LONG chapter! Thanks everyone!_

Noir59

Autumn 1871

With his hands shoved in his pockets, Erik walked through the darkened New York streets, a newspaper tucked beneath his arm.

For two months he had made the same nightly journey per Corinna's request, as she swore that the only decent chocolate was made in the candy shop three streets away from where they had settled.

At first Erik had been skeptical about residing in New York. The thought of crowded city streets frightened him and he feared that someone would recognize him from the disaster at the Opera Populaire. However, it had been nearly a year and there were too many new stories for people to dwell on something as old as the opera house fire.

Still, he couldn't imagine laboring with others. He had grown far too accustomed to living in solitude to feel comfortable around strangers. With Corinna's encouragement he submitted his work to the Academy of Music, but because he was an unknown composer he knew his concertos and symphonies would not be accepted.

Not yet.

The Academy of Music had rejected him, but a small theater owner had requested to meet him and discuss his work at the end of the week. All Erik knew about the man was that his name was James Ephant and that he thought the idea of a French composer was very exotic and enticing to his theater.

Music, however, was far from Erik's mind. The only thing he wanted at the moment was to return home to Corinna.

"Any day now," she had panted before he left for the night, "any day now and I won't ask you to bring me ice cream any more."

By the way she looked and acted Erik wasn't sure if she was sending him out of the house for sweets, or if she was planning to call for the midwife while he was away. He had watched with trepidation as she reclined in her favorite chair and slowed her breaths. Despite her noiselessness he knew she was in pain. He could see it on her face, in her tightly closed lips and her eyes that were squeezed shut. Her large belly made her uncomfortable no matter where she sat, and regardless if she was by the fireplace or holding a rag to her forehead, she was never comfortable.

He glanced down at the small bag in his hand and his pace quickened. Even though Pamela was with Corinna, he didn't want to be away from his wife when she was so close to giving birth. He needed to be in the house even if he was forbidden from being in the room. That was what she wanted. Corinna had told him repeatedly that she felt safer when he was home. He was her only comfort since they had fled their home across the ocean. The sudden departure was bad enough, but Corinna worried about their servants, both of whom had eventually followed them to New York. Corinna worried about her beautiful birds, but Erik assured her that they were fine. Ursula had taken them and sold them, he told her, however Pamela had confided that all the birds had probably starved to death. Abandoned in their cages, it would be weeks before anyone found them abandoned at their country home.

Erik was walking so swiftly that he almost forgot about the figure that had followed him from his doorstep to the ice cream shop and back. Quiet as a shadow, the man who had trailed him had been careful to blend with the evening crowd, but no one was entirely invisible, at least not to Erik.

Short and lithe, the man wove a distinct path through the city streets, dodging women and children as he followed along behind Erik. At first Erik had thought little of it. The streets were always busy and the weather was nice. It was the perfect time to take a walk.

But now that Corinna was close to birthing their child, everything was a threat in his mind. No place was far enough away or safe enough for his wife and child, especially since he had found the container of kerosene and paintbrush the day after they were married.

The moment he reached the front steps of his home he was in a panic, his hands trembling so severely that he couldn't fit the key into the lock.

"Mr. Levesque, is that you?" he heard a woman's voice from within.

It was Eleanor, the young American girl who served in the house and provided companionship to Corinna when Erik was busy composing and playing.

"Yes, it's me. Hurry, please," he said, glancing behind.

The figure had disappeared, which did nothing to calm Erik's nerves. The moment Eleanor opened the door Erik rushed inside and bolted it shut, handing the young girl the bag of candy.

"How is she?" he asked as she followed him up the stairs.

"Sleeping," Eleanor answered.

"I thought she was…close."

Eleanor half-smiled when Erik turned to face her. He stepped aside, allowing her to walk ahead of him down the hall to the bedroom.

"She thought so as well, sir, but sometimes symptoms come and go for days." This time she stopped and returned his bag of candy. "I will bring her some tea, sir. A cup for you as well?"

Erik nodded. He dug into the bag and handed her two pieces of chocolate. "For you and Pamela. And yes, I will take tea, thank you," he said before he disappeared into the bedroom.

There was no light in the room, but Erik had memorized its layout and his eyes adjusted swiftly. He could hear Corinna turn over in bed and softly moan.

"Who is it? Erik, are you home?" she asked, her voice husky from sleep.

He sat beside her and grasped her swollen hand. She could no longer wear her wedding ring because her hands had grown painfully swollen around the same time her condition became obvious. "Yes, it's me. How are you feeling?"

She groaned and inhaled deeply, drawing him nearer. "Would you like me to sit with you for a while?"

"No, I want you to rest," he said. "You need your strength."

Corinna decided to sit up anyway. "What's wrong? You sound as though there is something wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. I'm tired as well."

"Did you see that man? The Elephant?"

"James Ephant," he corrected. "And no, I didn't see Mr. Ephant. In my letter I explained to him that we were expecting a baby. He wrote back and said he and his wife have three of their own and that he would wait until after you were feeling better."

Corinna settled back into bed and Erik rose to turn up the lamp that was across the room.

"You've seen someone, haven't you?" Corinna said as Erik turned to face her.

He frowned when he looked at her and set his mask on the service table. When he looked into her eyes he knew there was no reason to lie to her. She would see through it and become angry with him.

As he scratched his forehead he nodded. "I thought I saw someone."

"Where?"

"Everywhere," he said under his breath. He walked to the wardrobe and rummaged through boxes set on the floor.

"What do you mean by 'everywhere'?"

"On the way to the candy store, through the windows, on my way home. Everywhere. I saw him everywhere."

"A man?"

He looked at her sharply, anger making his cheeks flush. "I would imagine."

Corinna made no reply. She massaged her own hands and rolled her tongue through her mouth.

"I apologize," he said softly, abandoning his search. Like a timid dog he sat beside her and reached for her hand but she drew away.

"You would use too much pressure," she said quietly. "You always do when you're angry."

"It's not my intention to harm you," he whispered. Her words made his chest ache. He had brought so much suffering upon her and now she couldn't trust him to do something as simple as massage her hands.

Eleanor knocked on the bedroom door, momentarily ending their awkward silence. Without a second thought she pushed the mask aside and set the tray on the service table, careful to not raise her eyes and look directly at Erik. All she had been told was that he had been burned in a fire. Out of respect she always looked away when she saw the mask sitting out.

"Anything else, Mrs. Levesque?" she inquired.

"No, darling. I will see you in the morning."

"Would you like me to read to you later?" Eleanor offered.

Corinna smiled and Erik felt his wife's hand cover his. "I believe my husband will read to me tonight."

With a nod Eleanor exited the room. She paused in the doorway and glanced back. "I drew the curtains, Mr. Levesque. All of them."

"Thank you, Eleanor," he replied before she went on her way.

For a long while they sat in silence, Corinna with her eyes closed and Erik growing sick with worry. He hadn't told Corinna how he had been waking in the middle of the night and spitting out blood. The pending birth coupled with the stress of writing music he wasn't sure he could sell was enough to give him an ulcer, and now after seeing the same individual for the last month, he was surprised his intestines hadn't revolted completely.

"What do you think she wants with you?" Corinna asked at last.

"She wants to kill me," he said.

"But why go through so much trouble for one man?"

"I don't know."

Corinna gripped his hand hard, her eyes remaining shut. "I don't want to run away for the rest of my life."

"I know."

"And I don't want our child to run away for the rest of his or her life."

"I know. I don't want that either."

"And you," she said, her eyes slitting open. "I love you. I don't want you to worry."

He exhaled and inched closer. "I don't know what to do," he said as he stared at the floor. "And God, Corinna, it's a terrible feeling to look at you and think that I have no idea how to keep you safe, truly safe, from something I've done."

"I feel safe," she said. "When you're with me I feel safe."

"But what if—"

Corinna grabbed his shoulder and struggled to sit upright. "Don't ask questions, Erik," she said. She gave him a devilish smile. "Men should not think. It's simply dangerous."

Her playfulness did nothing to improve his mood. Shoulders slumped, he shook his head.

"I've been thinking," he started slowly, "that perhaps I should send you somewhere…somewhere safer than here."

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew big. "No, Erik, no I'm not going anywhere without you."

"They won't follow you."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Corinna, I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

She grimaced slightly and Erik knew she was having another contraction. He wrapped his arm around her back and touched her gently, massaging her tight lower back.

He wasn't sure if she cried because of the pain or because of his words, but when she started to sob he couldn't think of anything to say to her. He felt poisonous, as though he were killing her slowly by asking to be away from her, though at the same time knowing his presence only put her in harm's way.

"Don't you ever think of leaving me," Corinna said at last. "Don't you ever, ever think of leaving me."

Erik put his chin on her shoulder and kissed her ear. "I want to keep you safe."

"And I want to keep my husband."

Erik felt her body tighten again and encouraged her to squeeze his hands if she felt the need to hold onto something. With a groan she gripped his fingers and grunted, attempting to hold back her pain.

"They're happening more frequently, aren't they?" Erik asked once she rested again.

She nodded weakly. "I don't know if I can tolerate many more," she said, forcing a laugh.

"Do you want someone here with you? I mean to say, do you want Eleanor to fetch the midwife?"

Corinna started to shake her head in reply but stopped herself and gasped, gripping Erik's hand tighter than he thought possible.

"I—I think," she stammered. She stared at him, a look of utter surprise on her face as she turned her gaze to her legs hidden beneath the blankets. "I think, yes. But first help me stand."

"Wh-why? Why do you want to stand?" he asked, alarmed by her sudden desire to move from bed.

"Because. Please, Erik, just help me stand."

"Should you be standing?"

Corinna rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she scolded, placing her hands in his. "Quickly now, before another one comes."

Erik pulled her to her feet and watched as she began yanking the sheets from the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"My bag of waters broke," she murmured.

Erik scooped her into his arms and placed her on the opposite side of the bed. "Don't move," he ordered, pointing a finger at her as he walked around the bed and left their room.

From that moment on the night became a blur. Pamela was sent to boil water while Eleanor stayed with Corinna and the midwife in the bedroom.

Erik spent his evening in his study with a glass of scotch sitting untouched at his fingertips. He heard Corinna voicing her pain in the bedroom, and with each groan or scream of pain he felt more and more helpless, more incompetent and unsure of how he could care for her or their child.

He wondered if his own father had felt so insignificant the night he sat and waited for his wife to give him a son.

The taste of blood in the back of his mouth forced him to stand. He checked his pocket watch and saw that it was past two in the morning. Feeling exhausted himself, he couldn't imagine how tired Corinna must be after several hours of labor.

As if knowing his feelings, Eleanor knocked on the door.

"Mrs. Levesque would like to see you," she said.

"Is she..?"

"Not yet, but the midwife says it will be soon."

The midwife was correct. Erik had just entered the room when the midwife told him to wait outside. He only had time to press a kiss to her sweat-dampened brow and stroke her hair. She looked pale, sallow, and it worried him that she was struggling too much.

"Don't you ever think of leaving me," he whispered to her in French as he held her tightly and felt her tremble through another contraction.

"I'm scared," she replied. "And I'm tired, Erik, I don't know if I can do this."

"You're going to be fine," he assured her before he left again, his hands in his pockets and the haunting image of his wife and best friend in unimaginable agony.

Erik walked out the back door and sat on the stairs, unable to think of anything but Corinna's face. He could hear everything through the open bedroom window. Corinna's grunts were getting louder, the midwife's voice more urgent.

He hoped he was right and that she would be fine, as he couldn't imagine living a day without her. Accompanied by the thought of losing her was their child not surviving, which was something unfathomable. Or losing Corinna and needing to raise a child on his own. He was certain he would never marry again, and alone he could not provide for an infant.

His throat tightened, and as he held his hand to his face he heard a cry from the room above.

Immediately he froze, his heart pausing as he waited for another cry to distinguish what he heard.

"Oh thank God," Corinna sighed.

The same mewing cry filled the air and Erik leapt to his feet, his mouth gaping open in complete shock. It was the sound of a baby. His baby. Their baby.

"What is it? What is it?" he heard Corinna pant.

He didn't wait for her to answer. Relief flooded over him as he raced up the stairs and entered the bedroom, startling the midwife and Eleanor.

His eyes locked on Corinna, her face flushed and hair plastered to her forehead. She smiled as she rested against her pillows.

"Where?" he asked, seeing her arms empty.

Corinna motioned him forward. "There," she said, her eyes turning toward the midwife. "It's a girl, Erik. We have a girl."

The midwife cleaned the baby while Erik kissed Corinna's face and neck and even her hands.

"You did well," he said.

"Did you want a son?" she asked as she closed her eyes.

"I wanted whatever you gave me," he answered.

At last the midwife handed Corinna their daughter and asked Eleanor to take the soiled sheets from the room while the new mother rested and nursed her new baby. With the others gone, Erik removed his mask and settled in beside his wife and daughter, completely fascinated by Corinna's instincts to nurture. He immediately felt more in love with her than he had ever been in his life.

Once the baby was asleep Corinna handed her to Erik and smiled.

"She looks like you," Corinna whispered. "Fair-skinned. Well, right now she's more red, but she's going to be fair-skinned."

Erik couldn't take his eyes off the little person in his arms. Dreams of a family had disappeared days after he saw the burns to his face and the scars along his back and chest.

"She has your hair. I didn't think babies had hair when they were born."

"She's beautiful, don't you think?"

Erik nodded. "She's your daughter. Of course she's beautiful."

"Ours," Corinna sighed. She rested her head against Erik's arm and chuckled. "It will be a very, very long time before I allow you in my bed again."

He kissed her forehead, finding he wasn't concerned with his own pleasures while they were all together. "Have you thought of a name?"

"I was thinking Sorinji. It was my mother's name. People called her Sori."

All of Erik's anxiety gave way to serenity, and as he watched his wife and new daughter sleep he felt his own eyes grow heavy. Curling up beside Corinna with the baby in between them, he drifted off to sleep just as the sun began to rise.

The only thing that woke him was Eleanor, who came into the room and apologized. She didn't look at him when she said there was someone at the door to see him.

"Who?" he asked sleepily.

"A woman."

Startled, Erik sat up and grabbed his mask. "What does she look like? What color are her eyes?"

"Pale green."


	60. JadeEyed Stranger

I haven't yet decided what to call pt 2 of Goddess Noir but I did want to post this. I also have no idea when I'll have a chance to write and post more. Maybe after Paladin is done. It's been brought up that some people would like to see Noir as a paperback. I'll consider that over the next couple of months.

Thanks for your support!

Noir1

Corinna stirred from sleep and reached out to Erik, grabbing hold of his wrist.

"What is it?" she asked sleepily as she peered up at him. Eleanor respectfully shut the bedroom door and he heard her walk down the stairs.

"Sleep," he said. He leaned over Sorinji and kissed Corinna's lips. "You need your rest."

"What did Eleanor want?" she questioned.

"A moment of my time. Close your eyes and rest yourself."

After several blinks, she nestled into the pillow and snuggled up with Sori. Erik waited until he was certain his wife was asleep before he rose from the bed. He dressed swiftly, his eyes trained on Corinna's and Sori's reflections in the mirror.

Their daughter flicked her tongue out, her head turning to the side as she let out a whimper of hunger. Corinna instantly stirred and brought the infant to her chest. Erik glanced down to button his shirt and heard Corinna coo as she nursed the newborn.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Nowhere."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "You should realize it only angers me when I ask you a question and you refuse to tell me the truth."

He glanced up and frowned. "There is someone at the door."

Corinna made no immediate reply. Erik looked himself over in the mirror before he opened the dresser drawer and rummaged around for his mask.

"Who?" she asked at last.

"A woman."

He watched her in the mirror as her gaze darted around. "Don't leave. Have Eleanor tell her that there is no one home."

"I can't." He turned around to face her rather than her reflection.

"Why not?"

"Because I cannot allow her to come for you." He looked to the baby at her breast. "And Sorinji as well."

"Erik—"

"Stay here and keep the baby quiet," he commanded. The power in his voice stayed her in bed. She turned away from him and stroked their daughter's silky, dark hair.

"When you're finished I expect you will return to bed," she said without looking at him.

He fought the urge to return to her for one last kiss, knowing full well it would make everything more difficult. He watched Corinna interact with their newborn—four hours old now, wasn't she?

Perhaps it was better this way for Corinna and Sorinji, he thought bitterly. They had full access to his funds and would live quite contentedly for years. Corinna could marry again if she wished and secure a better life for their daughter. Not even he wanted his assumptions to turn into reality.

"Corinna," he said with his back turned. "I love you."

"It's cold in bed without you," she replied.

Eleanor stood at the bottom of the stairs with one hand on the banister. "Should I have invited her inside, sir?"

Erik shook his head. "Thank you," he said. "You may return to your quarters if you wish."

With a curtsy, she looked at him one last time before she turned and left. He waited until he heard the door close down the hall before he walked into the kitchen and through the back door with intentions of approaching the visitor from behind.

As quietly as he could, Erik slipped through the gate and surveyed his surroundings. Several people were walking across the street, most of whom he'd observed for weeks as he gazed out the upper floor window.

Unnoticed, he approached the front of his home, his frustration mounting as he realized that the porch was obscured by bushes. Through the branches he saw the outline of a woman. She was shorter, thinner than he remembered. He wondered where her assassins lay in wait, as he knew she wouldn't come alone. His only hope was to draw her away from his porch and the family that slept inside.

Once he stood directly behind her, he braced himself and cleared his throat. The Sultana immediately turned around and Erik took a step back.

"Are you Mr. Levesque?" she questioned.

Erik stared at the familiar jade eyes, his lips parted and a question lodged in his throat. He knew her face but he'd never met her before.

She stared at his mask and licked her full lips.

"Mr. Levesque?" she asked again.

"Who are you?" he questioned.

She extended her hand. "I believe you knew my mother."


	61. Darika

Noir2

"Well?"

Corinna couldn't help but cradle the sleeping newborn in her arms. Exhausted, she refused to close her eyes and rest as Erik had instructed. She wouldn't be content until he closed the front door, kicked off his shoes, and nestled in close beside her. They were a family now and they deserved the peace and comfort of welcoming their child into the world.

Eleanor turned from the window and faced Corinna. She frowned and shook her head. "I can't see much. There is a stool in the linen closet."

Corinna lay back and closed her eyes. She shook her head. "Is he still speaking with that woman?"

The housekeeper hesitated. "Yes, ma'am, I believe he is still speaking with her."

Nostrils flared, she gave a sigh of frustration. "Did she give her name?"

Eleanor nodded. "Darika. She refused to give a last name."

Sorinji woke with a tiny cry, her tongue flicking past her lips. Two tiny hands reached out, one finding her mother's nightdress. With a grunt, her face pushed against her mother's chest.

Corinna unbuttoned her night dress. "Tell Mr. Levesque I need him upstairs."

Eleanor's cheeks turned bright red when she turned and found her employer nursing the newborn. "I'll bring whatever you need, Mrs. Levesque."

It took all of her strength to keep from rolling her eyes. Her husband had seen her breasts and much more—which, she wanted to tell her housekeeper, was how they managed to have a child. But snapping at poor Eleanor would do nothing to quell her anxiety.

"Tell him you broke the water pitcher."

Eleanor's mouth dropped open. She wrung her hands and glanced out the window. "She's a young girl, ma'am. You shouldn't fuss over her."

"I will fuss over whatever I like, Eleanor."

"Yes, of course."

"I'm worried about him," Corinna blurted out. "About us. I want her sent away immediately."

The housekeeper nodded and curtsied. "I will speak with Mr. Levesque at once."

-o-

Erik slowly took a step back and attempted to draw the young woman from the steps. With her hands at her sides, she stared at him intently, her eyes locked on his.

She was almost exactly as he remembered the Little Sultana. The shape of her face and the color of her eyes belonged to her mother, but her complexion was lighter, her lips thinner. It was enough to make him stare at her in horror.

"You are Mr. Levesque, aren't you, sir?"

He stared at her, then across the street where her assassins had yet to reveal themselves. He wondered why they waited. Surely he'd given them ample time to retrieve their prize.

The girl clasped her hands, revealing her jeweled fingers

No, he thought to himself. Poison. A single jab from a concealed needle and he would lie writhing on the floor. She'd step over him and abduct or kill his wife and daughter. Perhaps she would deliver a token of her loyalty to her mother in the form of a newborn. The thought made his stomach churn.

"I've spent quite some time searching for you, Mr. Levesque," the girl continued.

He glanced up at his home and saw the curtains rustle. Undoubtedly Corinna had sent Eleanor to spy on his activity, which made him nervous. If someone watched from across the street they would know his wife and daughter's location within the house.

"You are a difficult man to find. It has been nearly a year since I traveled from my palace in search of you."

He turned to her again, his eyes narrowed. "You are not welcomed here."

She blanched, her lips parted momentarily. Fear showed in her pale eyes as she stepped back. "I see."

"Leave here," he commanded, his voice deep and threatening. His hands balled into fists, teeth clenched as he started toward her, unafraid of the consequences. "You've destroyed enough."

"Mr. Levesque—"

"Don't speak to me. Don't think or say my name, don't look me in the eye. Do nothing but get the hell away from my house." All of the rage he'd felt when he lived beneath the opera house flooded his veins. He looked at her and saw the Sultana, saw his life dangling on the end of a string.

"I—I wished only to speak with you."

He stalked after her, ignoring the stares he felt at his back as several people stopped to watch the confrontation.

"Leave my home, leave us alone. My wife deserves better than this. My daughter—"

"A daughter?" the girl whispered. "Your wife had a little girl?"

Erik paused, the situation registering in his mind at last. He saw the look of hope and wonder on the young girl's face. Her expression was nothing like her mothers. The contempt he'd always seen in the Sultana's eyes didn't exist in this girl's expression. He looked at her and wondered if she fooled him or if she was sincere.

He looked away, his eyes searching the opposite side of the street. There was no one. He wanted there to be someone but he didn't understand why.

"I thought I had heard a child wailing. She must be only hours old. My sincerest congratulations, Mr. Levesque."

Frustrated, he turned to face the girl one last time.

"Enough of this. Who the hell are you and what do you want with my family?"

Her expression remained calm, her eyes friendly. She held out her hand, which he did nothing more than stare at, leery of her rings. "My name is Darika. My interest is not in your family, but in you. As I have said before, I believe you knew my mother. If you have but a moment, Mr. Levesque, I would like to know how well you knew her."

His breath caught in his throat. "I designed and constructed a palace—"

"Yes, a work of genius. I know the palace well, you see, and most of the secrets it contains. Perhaps you will be able to shed light upon the answers which have eluded me, Mr. Levesque?"

"It's been years since I've seen the palace," he stammered.

She nodded. "Since before I was born. Almost nine months, I believe."

Erik felt the door at his back. He grasped for the doorknob and felt the girl touch his hand.

"May I speak with you, Mr. Levesque?"

The door opened and Eleanor looked from him to Darika. Across the street, a man dressed in beige paused and stared at the door.

"Pardon me for the interruption, but your wife would like to see you, Mr. Levesque."

He walked inside, his heart still beating erratically. The man he'd seen across the street had started to cross. "Is there tea, Eleanor?"

"Of course, Mr. Levesque."

He glanced at the girl from the corner of his eye as he reached for the banister. "How do you take your tea?"

"With lemon."

"And your accomplice?"

She shifted her weight. "I do believe the daroga prefers his tea with milk."


	62. Alin and Darika

Giant apologies! I've had this finished for almost a month and just realized I never uploaded my word document.

I'm going to consider this part two of Goddess Noir and I'm calling it Shringaar, which means "The power of beauty" in Hindu.

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Darika walked to the end of the street alone. She was exhausted from a sleepless night of walking up and down the street, constantly passing the Levesque House. Twice she'd found herself on the doorstep, and just as quickly as she found her hand inches from the doorknocker she was halfway down the street, running as fast as she could.

But now she had met him, and as much as she had hoped to ease her heart and mind, she found herself only trembling more. Glancing back, she looked at the closed door and remembered his eyes. Cold, pale eyes. He'd wanted nothing to do with her. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, yet still it had stung. She'd wanted him to invite her for tea and insist that she ask him anything and everything.

At last she rounded the corner and found her companion browsing the windows. The dark-haired giant seemed surprised to see her.

"It wasn't him?"

"No, it was."

"But he didn't answer the door?"

"No, he answered." She exhaled and considered slapping his fleshy face. "Would you listen to me, Alin?"

The young man turned back to the window, his eyes narrowed. "We both know you never have anything of interest to say."

"You are here to protect me," she snapped, wishing his father—the original daroga—had agreed to accompany her. He, however, had expressed his need for a holiday, one which did not include hunting down the Levesques. With no other choice, she was accompanied by a grinning giant who found his own jokes more amusing than anyone else did.

"I was here to protect you, but I quit."

"You cannot quit."

"No, not while I'm within the palace. But I have quit…once in Bombay, once in Cairo—twice in Rome, if I remember correctly, and once before we reached the harbor in New York. I'm sure I quit half a dozen times in Paris alone, but I won't dwell. I know how you simply despise dwelling on anything…or is it that you despise dwelling in the same place for more than a day?"

"You must tell me honestly," she said, ignoring his words.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When you see him. Us. Together. I need to know what you think."

Alin shook his head. "You saw him for yourself. Wasn't it enough?"

She frowned and grabbed his arm, tugging him down the street. "My opinions are biased."

"Well, what does your heart tell you?"

She refused to look him in the eye. "What my heart wants and what I feel are two separate entities. I cannot decide."

"Shall I break down his door and rough him up a bit?"

"Alin—"

"Fine, fine." He gave a heavy sigh. "Dark and imposing. I shall mind my tongue and crack my knuckles."

"You're impossible," she sighed.

"No, you're impossible. I'm sensible and quite entertaining."

A laugh escaped as they turned the corner together. "No one has ever said you were entertaining. Annoying? Yes. Entertaining? Never."

"Fine. I quit."

Her eyes narrowed. "You may quit after we have enjoyed Mr. Levesque's tea and hospitality."

"It better be damned good tea."

-o-

Erik coughed into his handkerchief and then stuffed it into his pocket. He didn't need to look at the white linen to know his stomach bled with anxiety. He could still taste it in the back of his throat and it sickened him.

"Erik," Corinna called. "Where are you?"

"One moment," he muttered.

This felt like complete madness to invite this woman into his home. He paced the landing and thought about how he should have told her to meet him in the park.

"Or not at all," he mumbled to himself.

Eleanor walked past the stairs and glanced up at him. She carried a tray in her hand, which she nearly dropped as she sated her curiosity.

"Erik, what are you doing?" Corinna called out.

He braced himself and opened the door to find her sitting in bed with her feet on the floor and the baby in her arms.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

"I wouldn't have to be out of bed if my husband answered the first time I called him," she snapped.

Her eyes were red, her hair mussed. She frowned at him and shook her head.

"I apologize."

"Is that woman gone?"

He rubbed his forehead and inhaled. "Not yet."

"Please, Erik, I'm absolutely exhausted. Come to bed with me. I cannot sleep unless you're close to me."

He walked to her bedside and motioned for her to lay back.

"Don't you want to hold her?" she questioned as she looked from him to their daughter.

"Of course I do."

"Then why aren't you here? With us? She's not even a day old and you're out of sight."

"Corrina, I've been downstairs for…for twenty minutes at the most."

She scoffed and squeezed the infant to her chest. "Then do as you wish."

His lips parted and he shook his head. "I want to stay with you. But—"

"But?"

"She's here for tea."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Darika. She is the Sultana's daughter."

Corrina's eyes widened. "And what does she want with you? To finish what her mother started?"

He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. "She's looking for her father?"

-o-

Corinna stared at Erik with her mouth agape. "No," she breathed. "No, you tell her to leave at once."

He blanched and looked away. "I don't know what to tell her."

"Is it true? Did you--?"

"No, I never…I don't know why she thinks this could even be possible."

"Then tell her to leave."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he growled. "But I can't."

"You're prolonging the inevitable."

"I'm trying to do what's best."

"For whom? For her or for us?"

"For everyone."

"Why do you care for her?"

"I don't care for her."

"Is she beautiful? Is that what it is? A beautiful young woman with a trim figure? Not…not this—this mother of your first born child! How dare you, Erik. How dare you!"

"Corinna, stop it. For God's sake, she's come here looking for her father, not a lover."

She turned away, her face burning with anger. "This was supposed to be behind us. Our lives, our home…we've left everything in France…in India! Why is she here? Why did she follow you?"

"I've told you."

"I want a better answer."

The baby stirred in her arms which made Corinna finally break down. She struggled to hold onto her daughter as Erik pried the baby from her arms.

"What now?" she questioned through her tears. "What else can she do to us?"

Erik made no reply. He kissed her forehead but she didn't look up or return his affection. With Sorinji in his arms, he walked from the room. The door closed and her family was separated once more.


	63. A Worthy Man

A/N I promise no more four months between updates.

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Darika sat perched at the very edge of her seat with a cup of tea in hand. Alin looked like a lazy cat at her side. He sat with his legs spread far apart, his body slouched in his chair in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position.

"It's warm in here," he mumbled.

"Quit complaining."

He shot her a look. "I wasn't complaining. I was merely saying it's warm."

She turned away and sighed. "Keep your opinions to yourself then."

Fabric rustled, and she knew he sank lower into his seat merely to irritate her. All she wanted was for Monsieur Levesque to join them in the parlor and at last answer her questions. He'd know everything, just as her mother had promised her months ago, and he would sit down and explain the situation that led to her conception and birth.

While she watched dust motes dance through the midday sun she thought about what little she did know. Her mother had described a handsome stranger, a brooding man with blue eyes and dark hair. It was from him that Darika received her artistic and emotional streaks, her mother had said. It was from him that she received a love of fine food and craftsmanship when it came to the house. It was from him that she acquired her temper—though that seemed like a lie because other than Alin's insolence, nothing upset her or grated on her nerves.

"How long do you intend to wait?" Alin grumbled.

She turned her head and glared at him, but he didn't notice. His eyes were shut, a curl of hair resting on his forehead. He looked like an overgrown child pouting in his seat. Before she had a chance to tell him he was being rude again, the parlor door opened. They both immediately stood at attention and nearly knocked each other over. With a nervous smile, Darika stepped forward.

"We're not interrupting, are we?" she asked, though she wasn't sure what she would do if he said that they were interrupting and he'd prefer if they returned later—or never again.

Monsieur Levesque turned. The mask still startled her as it was in deep contrast to his dark hair and the gently tanned uncovered side. She did her best to hide her immediate shock but was certain she failed miserably, mostly because he met her gaze and appeared to stare through her.

"My wife is very tired," he answered.

She couldn't read him properly, though she'd tried to remind herself that this would happen. Despite their blood relation, he was still a stranger. With patience, though, she maintained confidence that she could at least earn the love of one parent…the only one she had now. The Little Sultana was not one for affection. As Darika studied Monsieur Levesque, she wondered what he'd seen in her mother all those years ago.

"We shall keep our voices down," Darika answered. "I would hate to disturb her."

"Why don't you ask her to step out awhile?" Alin muttered under his breath.

It was a good thing he stood three feet away or she would have not so casually stomped on his foot to silence him.

"How is she feeling?" Darika inquired behind a fake smile.

"Tired," Monsieur Levesque answered. His gaze lowered, and as he turned to fully face them she noticed he had a wiggly bundle in his arms.

Her breath hitched and she stood very still as though a single movement would cause the newborn to wail.

"Your daughter," she said under her breath. "Oh, she looks simply lovely, Monsieur Levesque. The prettiest baby in the entire world."

"Yes," he said, though his tone was morose. "Yes, she is."

In a single heartbeat this meeting seemed all the more intimate. Not only did she have her father, but now she had her newborn sister. A smile crept across her face, and her body tingled with the delight and wonder of an expanding family. She barely took notice of Monsieur Levesque's stony expression or his protective stance. Through the stars in her eyes, all she could see was a perfect, loving man, a caring, worthy father.

She loved him before he said a word.

-o-

Darika appeared harmless enough, though judging by her expression Erik was certain she had imbibed a mind-altering substance. She gazed at him like a lost puppy, her eyelashes dreamily batting, her lips curled in a smile of perpetual confusion mixed with euphoria.

"Mademoiselle," he started.

She jumped and shook her head slightly as though to clear her thoughts. "I do hope Madame Levesque is resting well. These pains are often trying."

"As we've seen from the birth of calves in the stables," her large, imposing friend replied under his breath. "The cows always look exhausted."

"Shhh!" the girl ordered, making no attempt to hide her frustration. "Do not compare his _wife_ to a bloody _cow_!"

"I'm not. I just don't understand how you'd know this."

"I just do," she said tightly.

"Well, you haven't a child of your own," he argued.

"But I'm a woman." She paused only for a second. "Oh, sit down and be quiet."

"Mademoiselle," Erik said once they were all seated. He adjusted Sorinji so that she lay closer to his neck. There he could feel each soft breath, each indication of the life he'd helped create, now safe in his arms. "I'm not sure I understand why you're here."

"Actually, I don't quite know why I'm here either," she said lightly. "That is to say, I know why I'm here, of course, but I suppose I find it rather impossible that I've made it this far. I've thought about this moment forever. Well, not forever, but you understand, don't you?"

He nodded slowly and watched her nervously straighten her skirt. She picked imaginary lint from her long sleeves and avoided his gaze a moment. It gave him an opportunity to look her over. Thankfully, he saw nothing of himself in her. She was merely a young woman, unfamiliar to his eyes.

"I would only like to hear you recount the relationship," she said.

"Relationship?"

"Yes, your relationship with my mother." Again she paused, and he felt his muscles tighten. "Now that I've said it, it does sound like I'm asking quite a bit from you, but…perhaps I'm a selfish woman."

_Girl_, he thought. She was only a girl. He wondered if her mother had sent her to do her bidding, knowing he'd welcome a harmless girl into his home.

"There is nothing to tell," he lied, his voice hard and cruel.

"Surely there is something—"

"There is nothing to tell," he replied through his teeth. Sori stretched and he feared he'd disturbed her. He feared she would wake and cry for her mother, and he wasn't yet ready to hand her back. He wanted to hold this image of her in his mind forever, and if he gave her back now he would lose some detail of her perfect, tiny nose. It was flatter than he'd expected. Nothing about her was as he'd imagined a newborn…his newborn…his daughter. He still couldn't believe he'd fathered a child.

"I only want to know what she was like back then," Darika pleaded.

He met her soft eyes, her pleasant, innocent face. She forced a nervous smile and glanced at her companion, who was facing away from her. Erik couldn't tell if her friend was being respectful or if he was bored. However, it didn't matter what Alin thought or felt; this was Darika's mission. She was the one who would suffer.

"You don't have to tell me much," she reasoned. "Whatever you feel comfortable sharing. A story or two, a day…a moment…the first moment, perhaps, when you met her in the palace."

_The way she hunted me down like an animal, the way she tore me away from the only woman I loved, the way she ruined all those years of my life… Is that what you would like to know, Mademoiselle? How this woman wove tales and destroyed my life and how she will do the same to you?_

Darika continued to stare at him, her gaze filled with expectation. Whatever he said either wouldn't be enough or would be easily passed off, discarded like a piece too dull for this intricate puzzle.

"I don't feel comfortable sharing anything," he replied at last. Darika gawked at him, and for a moment he thought she would protest, but she merely sat in frozen silence. "Now, if you will excuse me. I must see to my wife."

Despite the girl's protest, he shut the door and walked away.


	64. Happiness Threatened

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Darika's words followed him like a dream still chasing sleep. Unable to focus, unable to think, he blindly groped the wall until he stood at the top of the stairs. Sori gave a mewing cry and flicked her tongue out in search of food. Her tiny fist reached out and hit him gently on the chest, which brought the sudden, painful urge to weep.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, though he felt he should speak those words to her mother despite not knowing precisely why he needed to apologize.

"Leave him alone," he heard Darika's companion insist.

"I can't."

"You can and you will."

"Alin—"

"We're not staying here," the big man said firmly. "I'll bind, gag, and drag you from here if I have to. Don't think I won't, even if you do hold favor in your father's eyes."

"The sultan," she corrected. "Not my father."

Erik pressed his back to the wall and closed his eyes. What in God's name had happened that she believed _he_ was her father? He hadn't asked her—he hadn't wanted to ask her anything at all. The sight of her made him uncomfortable to the very marrow of his bones, the way she looked at him brought the memories he attempted to forget each night. But there was something else in her gaze, some sort of potent drug that threatened to soothe him into complacency and catch him off guard.

"Damn it," he said under his breath. He needed to tell her that she was mistaken and send her on her way.

"Darika," her escort said, a warning edge to his voice. "Now."

"I want to come back," she said, her voice heavy with the disappointment.

"Why?" both Alin and Erik questioned from different parts of the house.

"Because I want to know him, even if he doesn't want to know me."

"There is nothing to know," Erik muttered. He gave Sori his finger to suck on, which she did with almost painful force.

"You're a stubborn ass," Alin grumbled. "And right now I don't care if you tell the sultan that I insulted you, because by the time we return home I'm fairly certain your brother will be ruling the sand and chances are he'll agree with me. Now, put down your tea cup and come with me."

"This isn't my tea cup. It's his," she answered softly.

Alin gave a sigh. "We'll return later. But in order to return, we must leave."

"What do you think happened between them?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he answered impatiently. Something in his voice made Erik's eyes narrow. "What does it matter? It's the past."

"I think it might have been me," she replied.

Alin had no witty retort, and several moments later Erik heard their footsteps shuffle along the plush carpet in the hall and out the front door. Just as the door shut, Sori released a wailing cry of frustration that the finger in her mouth provided no milk. She screamed in protest, her scrunched-up face bright red with fury.

"Oh, oh, oh," he said, jiggling her in an attempt to calm her. Her neck dipped, which nearly made his heart stop as he imagined his futile efforts snapping her in half. Wincing on her behalf, he clasped her tightly against his body and ushered her into the bedroom where Corinna sat up with arms outstretched.

"What in the world did you do to upset her this much?" Corinna cooed as she unfastened a button on her blouse and brought the screaming ball of child to her breast.

"I didn't do _that_," he said as he collapsed on the side of the bed.

Corinna smiled, though she kept her gaze trained on Sori. "It might be helpful if you could."

He wiped his hand over his face and exhaled, thinking he needed nothing else to separate him from being a normal man.

"What does it feel like?" he asked suddenly.

Corinna looked up at him, her face brighter than the last time he'd seen her. She appeared rested, her mood more cheerful and, he hoped, more forgiving.

"What does what feel like?"

"When you…" His gaze dropped from her face to her breast shielded by a tiny black-haired baby. Heat flared across his neck and cheeks, though he didn't know why he was embarrassed to ask his wife a question about a natural part of her life.

"When I feed her?" Corinna finished for him. He nodded but still couldn't bring himself to look at her, which made her chuckle. "You can't be that modest," she teased. "You are, after all, the person responsible for her."

He met her eye and gave a crooked smile. "And do you hate me for that?"

Her playful expression straightened. "I would hate you for lying to me, but I will never hate you for my daughter."

His head lowered, and he nodded, hands clasped together. "I didn't think it was possible to love you any more than I already did, but I'm certain that I've found more room inside of myself for you and for Sori. You have no idea how much I love the two of you."

"Yes, I do," she said softly. "Because it's how I feel for you and her." She motioned for him to sit closer, which he did. Sori snorted and sucked her way to contentment until she went limp from sleep in her mother's arms. "I worry about you, Erik. I worry about losing you."

He rubbed her shoulder, careful not disturb Sori. "You won't. I'll be here to protect the two of you no matter what."

"Not physically," she continued. "I mean inside. I worry about losing you in different ways, in ways I've almost lost you before."

"I don't ever want to be away from you," he answered.

She smiled. "Sometimes it doesn't matter what we want, it just happens."

"I won't let it." His hand slid into hers. "I swear to you."

She held on tighter than he expected. "Stay here with me. For the rest of the afternoon. I want to hear you breathing beside me and feel your arms around me."

He nestled beside her and hummed softly, stroking her unwashed hair. She still smelled faintly of blood and sweat and honey, the perfume of a night birth and a restful morning spent drinking tea and eating bread drizzled with honey. Eyes closed, he kissed her cheek, and she relaxed. Her body was now unfamiliar terrain to him, the swell of her belly soft rather than drum-tight over their child. He didn't care. She was his, and he wanted to touch her, every part of her that needed to be committed to his memory.

"Erik," she whispered. She positioned their daughter beside her in bed and reached back to touch his cheek.

"Sleep, Corinna."

"I can't make love to you today," she replied, her voice low and shy as a girl's. "I'm too sore, I think, to be able to…accept you."

He shushed her, unable to listen to the apology in her voice. "You need to rest. I'll stay with you and sleep."

"Tomorrow," she said, her voice as light as a feather. "I've heard a woman can apply cold compresses to keep the swelling down…and her husband happy."

"I am happy," he answered. He held her closer, pressed his lips to the back of her neck. "This makes me happy, Corinna, you make me happy."

"I want to keep you that way."

Frustration trapped the breath in his throat. She stroked his cheek, though her caress did nothing to soothe him. Her touch fell on the right side of his face, along memories and nightmares that had stepped through his front door. As much as he tried to hide it, he stiffened and wanted to pull away from her.

"You're the only woman in this world who will ever make me happy," he said at last. "After everything we've—"

"I have a feeling there's much more to come," she replied softly.


	65. Memory of Fire

One of my rescued puppies chewed through my laptop cord, which means I'm without my usual computer. Expect me to be a little slow while I adjust to my husband's PC. And hey, I already started the next Shringaar chapter. Go me! LOL.

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She had no cousins, no aunts and uncles, no grandparents. Erik didn't know if he felt sorry for his daughter or if he should relish having her all to himself. There would be no older woman cooing over his shoulder, insisting that she hold her new granddaughter. No man smoking on the back steps, telling tales of his own childhood—or of Corinna's.

He looked away from Sori, unwilling to allow bitterness to enter his heart as he gazed at her round, blotchy newborn face.

How he loved those tiny, slanted eyes, that misshapen head and scratched, reddened complexion. How he adored those piercingly high wails, those tightly clenched fists, and those grunts that meant it was time to hand her over to a woman for changing.

He smiled to himself. Five days had passed since her birth and he was certain he'd changed her diaper more often than anyone else, merely because it meant he could hold her and sing to her a moment longer. She always appeared mesmerized when she heard his voice.

"She must recognize it from her time in the womb," Corinna told him.

She knew him without seeing him, loved him, perhaps, without ever knowing him.

Erik discovered soon enough that the infant didn't do much during her day, which had come as a surprise to him. He'd had no experience with babies, but he'd always expected something more than continuous sleep interrupted by brief moments of feeding and changing. He'd never thought that she'd have a difficult time holding her head up, which to him seemed like something everyone should be capable of doing. Horses could walk moments after birth, but humans were helpless. She was fragile, and he needed to protect her every second of every day.

That gave way to pride. And fear. Once, while she squirmed and kicked during a diaper change, she'd nearly wriggled off the bed. It had terrified him to think of her falling, her tiny head injured from the impact of hitting the floor. And then, with her unstable neck, she'd swung back as he carried her down the stairs and nearly rammed herself into the wall. For someone so small and helpless, she certainly proved a danger to herself.

As much as he wanted to hold her constantly, operas needed to be written and sold, funds managed, servants paid. Corinna's father had owned several small properties in London, and the money from renters came at the end of each month. It wasn't much, but it kept them comfortable in their new life. If anything happened to him, Corinna and Sori would live comfortably with their monthly allowance from London. That was the only news he hoped to receive from overseas.

In five days he hadn't seen or received word from the girl who claimed to be his daughter. If she hadn't looked like her mother, he would have found her to be an annoying but harmless child. But she had her mother's face and eyes—and it was her eyes that terrified him.

Still, he found that he pitied her more than anything else. Darika didn't seem as malicious and hateful as her mother. Her show of innocence confused and alarmed him, as he was certain she toyed with his mind and wanted to gain his trust. For what, he didn't know, but with Corinna still unable or unwilling to leave her bed and a helpless newborn in his arms, he wouldn't see her again, at least not by choice.

A small bell chimed from the upstairs bedroom and Erik rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't serious," he mumbled as the chime continued to ring through the halls.

In a moment of tenderness and teasing, he'd given Corinna a small brass bell and told her to ring it when she needed him. She must have needed something urgently with the way she carried on.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" he asked, his head popping into the doorway to peer at her.

"I'm sore, I'm awake, and I'm bored." She pouted at him, her eyes darker than usual, her face still round but somehow different than he remembered. It was as if he hadn't looked at her for months, yet he'd seen her only hours ago.

He stared at her, unsure of what he could do to relieve her soreness, wakefulness, or boredom.

"Is there a newspaper?" she questioned. "I want to read something false."

He shook his head, smiling at her cynicism. Since they'd been alone, her mood had changed from sullen to more sharp and playful. "I haven't bought one."

Her arms flung out to receive Sori. "Buy one."

"Yes, Madame," he said dryly, offering a bow once he handed Sori to her. "Your servant always, Madame." Out of all the women in India, he'd found and fallen in love with the only one who didn't follow her Eastern roots and kiss his feet. He loved her for her disobedience.

"Shoo," she said with a smile. "And buy something sweet as well. From that place I like with the strawberries and melted chocolate. Do you know which place?"

"I know the place," he sighed. She sent him there almost daily for pastries and chocolaty treats that she blamed for her swollen hands and feet while she continued to eat them one after another. He tromped three streets down from their townhouse for her sweets, even though their rotund cook swore she could make them twice as good.

"Wait," she said before he spun on his heel and walked out the door. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He bent and kissed her forehead as she unbuttoned her night dress and began feeding the baby. The moment his lips touched her flesh, he drew back.

"Christ, when did you become this warm?" he questioned.

She looked at him a moment, her eyes filled with fear and denial. "I'm fine."

"You're liable to light the sheets on fire." He pressed his palm to her cheeks and sat beside her, his concerns growing. Skin like fire, the pain of heat… He swallowed hard and frowned, memories fighting with the present. "You're burning up. How long have you been this warm?"

"I'm a little warm."

"A little? You have a high fever, not a mere rosy tone to your cheeks."

"It's nothing. You're exaggerating my condition."

"I'm concerned about you," he replied.

"I'm fine. It's probably normal." She trained her gaze on the baby as though Sori was the answer to her sickness and she didn't much care.

He frowned at her, concern melding with frustration. "Fevers aren't normal. Have you asked Eleanor to send for the doctor?"

"I'm not going to trouble the doctor to come clear across the neighborhood to tell me I need to rest. I've barely noticed the fever," she argued, her voice unnaturally high and pleasant.

"Well, I have. I'm sending someone to see you immediately."

"No, Erik, just leave me to rest and I'll be fine. It will pass on its own," she said, waving her hand in the air as though she didn't care if she remained fevered for a day or a month. "Really, it's nothing to worry about."

"You don't know that."

"And you don't know, either. I'm fine. All I want is a paper to read and something to eat. Shall I retrieve it myself if you refuse to go?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, over a patch of scar tissue on his scalp from a burn. The feel of it made him grimace despite no sensation to his flesh. "Your doctor will know for sure if it's something to worry about." He stood and ignored her as she continued to protest. Sori began to cry, her peaceful half-sleep disturbed by her parents' raised voices.

Leaving Corinna to shout alone, he walked into the kitchen and startled Eleanor, who was attempting to look through a periodical of new dresses and footwear while she peeled carrots.

"Sir…Monsieur," she said nervously. She always startled like a mouse, always cowered when he came into the room. Mostly it was because she had her nose in a book or a newspaper ad for hats, which seemed to be her obsession. Big, feather bonnets that looked like an entire bird was perched atop her head seemed to be her favorites.

"Fetch the doctor. Mrs. Levesque isn't feeling well."

The girl's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, dear, oh this is simply terrible. I hadn't noticed. I apologize." She stood and bobbed a curtsy. "I should have noticed. This is all my fault."

_He_ should have noticed sooner than he did since he was her husband and should have been taking care of her. He nodded. "It's all right. Fetch one swiftly. I'll wait here until you return."

"Yes, sir. Monsieur, oui," she said in an attempt to make him comfortable. She didn't know more than a handful of words in French, and they all sounded awkward coming from her mouth.

"Thank you," he said.

"Oh, I'll feel simply wretched if anything happens to Mrs. Levesque or the baby."

He froze with his back to her and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He would die without them. Of that he was absolutely certain. Only Corinna had made him capable of living. Without her in his life, there would be nothing else for him. He wasn't ready to care for a child on his own. In his heart he was certain he'd never be prepared to care for a child.

"She'll be fine," he said, not because he believed it, but because he couldn't bear to think anything else. For his own sanity, he needed his wife to survive.

-o-

Eleanor returned faster than Erik had expected, but without a doctor in tow.

"He has another baby to bring into the world," she explained in loud, careful English.

"When will he be here?" he asked, just as loud and careful.

"Soon." Her cheeks flushed. "As soon as he can turn the baby."

He had no earthly idea what that meant and decided not to question. It didn't sound exactly pleasant.

"Send him up when he arrives," he said. "I'll be with my wife."

"Very good, sir." She bobbed another curtsy before he left.

Both mother and child were quiet when Erik walked into the bedroom. Despite the bassinette being at the foot of the bed, Corinna most often chose to sleep with Sorinji at her side in the bed.

Corinna rarely changed positions when she slept, which he found fascinating. If she fell asleep on her side, she remained on her side, yet if he slept on his back, he often woke on his stomach.

"How do you feel?" he questioned, sliding into place beside her.

Her back was to him and she didn't wake. He sighed and closed his eyes, unsure if he should wake her or let her sleep until the doctor arrived. For the past three days all she had done was sleep, which he assumed was normal. Every time she was awake she appeared exhausted, and he hated to disturb her for any reason. Most often he laid beside her and watched her sleep, loving this woman and her power of beauty and birth.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you and I worry about you because I'm selfish and I don't want to be without you. No matter what happens in the world, I need you with me, Corinna."

She didn't stir. He lay down beside her and moved her hair from the back of her neck and kissed her gently. She felt even warmer than before.

Immediately he shot bolt upright and gently shook her by the shoulder. "Corinna?" he said, his voice still low.

She didn't move. In fact, he couldn't hear her breathe. He pressed his fingers to her throat and whispered a word of thanks to God once he found her steady pulse.

"Corinna?" he said, louder than before.

Her lips parted, but she didn't respond to his gentle shaking as it turned rougher, more urgent.

"Wake up. Corinna, you must wake up at once!"

He felt her face and her neck, then her hands. Her flesh burned beneath his, the fire inside of her threatening to consume her. He needed to cool her. Desperately he searched the room until he saw a water basin on a small bedside table.

Erik left her side for only a moment and returned to mop her brow with cool water. She moaned softly, a deep, guttural sound that didn't come from his wife, but from the fiery entity inside of her.

"Wake up," he said through his teeth.

Beside her, Sori continued to sleep, oblivious to his panic. He gathered Corinna in his arms and scooted her toward the edge of the bed so he wouldn't dampen and chill the newborn with a splash of water. Over and over he cleansed her skin, working his way from her forehead down to her neck until he'd soaked her nightgown through, and she shivered.

"Christ, open your eyes." He tapped her gently on the cheeks, willed her to obey him for once and look at him. He'd told her it was serious and she hadn't listened. Why wouldn't she listen? He shook her hard, almost violently. Fear turned to rage. He'd be damned if she even thought of allowing a fever to take her. As she shivered and lay limp in his arms, he pressed his lips to her forehead, to the heat on her brow that seemed stronger than before. "Wake. Up. Now."


	66. Chasing Ghosts

Shringaar7

Ten long minutes passed and still no one came to the door. Alone and helpless, Erik smoothed the hair from her damp face and caressed her hot cheek.

She didn't respond.

He clung to her, curled her legs up in order to cradle her fragile, trembling body. He wanted her to feel his presence, to give her something to hold on to as she wandered through fever-induced sleep. All the while her teeth chattered, but her fever remained. He swore she felt warmer than the last time he'd checked, but with no way of knowing for certain, he merely held her.

And then he remembered why teeth chattered, and his heart sank at his own stupidity. Mopping her brow with cold water hadn't worked. In fact, her condition had worsened since the sponge bath, which had encouraged her temperature to rise. In desperation, he hadn't thought to check the water temperature and had thought the colder the water the better for her condition. Instead, he'd cooled her too swiftly, and now her body fought to heat itself.

"No, you can't sleep," he mumbled. "Wake up. Open your eyes and look at me."

She didn't respond. Her teeth had stopped chattering. She was giving up, unable to realize how much he wanted her to live. When was the last time he'd told her that he loved her? Yesterday? Two days ago? He knew for certain that it wasn't this morning when they'd spoken. He'd wasted an opportunity to tell her that she was beautiful and that he loved her for giving him a child, a perfect daughter.

He'd killed her.

The rag he'd held loosely in his hand fell to the ground with a soggy splat that emphasized his horror. He'd unintentionally increased her fever, a fatal, mindless mistake. He'd done it without a thought, without any consideration to the consequences. In greed and without concern for her health, he'd hurt her.

In complete disbelief he stared at her, at what he feared was the corpse of his wife and the mother of his child. Fear turned his insides cold, tightened every muscle in his body and trapped the air in the back of his throat. She would not have been so foolish if they're roles had been reversed. She would have known precisely what to do to care for him. No matter what, she always did know what he needed, what was best for him when he didn't know what was best for himself.

"Oh, Corinna," he whispered, his grasp on her tightening as though he struggled to keep her soul inside her body. He fought back the choke hold of tears, the torrent of heartache he knew all too well in his life. Behind him, Sorinji wailed, her tiny feet kicking at his back. She needed her mother more urgently than he needed his wife and best friend, his savior, his goddess.

For one brief moment he resented the tiny ball of wails, of piercing cries. If she hadn't been conceived then Corinna would have been fine. That, he realized, was also his doing. He couldn't blame a helpless child for her father's needs and wants.

"You must wake up," he begged. "Can't you hear her? She's crying for you, Corinna, not for me. She needs you. We need you."

Corinna barely breathed, barely moved. With each passing second she faded in his grasp, in his useless arms which failed to protect her. She didn't need him. She'd never needed him to guard her, to watch over her. He was useless, a burden to her life and livelihood, and now he'd killed her, the only person he'd ever loved without doubts, without hesitation.

"I need help!" he shouted, though it was barely a shout. His words came out strangled, weakened by the tears that came all at once and clouded his eyes. He was weak and he was selfish, he was cowardly and he was unable to cope with the world around him. To lose her was to lose the anchor in his life, the focal point that kept him from straying too close to the edge.

"Please," he begged, though he didn't know to whom. He would have pled at the feet of God to allow him to keep her. But no one listened to him, no one offered assistance in the darkest moment of his life. "Please, I need help."

Distantly, barely audible over the baby's cry and his own muffled moans, he heard Corinna grunt in pain, in desperation. Her lips parted, showing a flash of white teeth against dark red lips, pleading to him to help her, to stay with her.

"I'm here," he told her. "I'm right here, I'm right here."

Her lips trembled, formed words he couldn't understand. He started to smile, to encourage her to speak and tell him what she needed. All he needed was to hear her voice.

And then her fight to live was gone. No movement, no response to his voice as he urgently called to her.

"Corinna?" he questioned. She was limp in his grasp, a life size rag doll without control of her muscles. "Corinna, stay with me. Just stay with me a little longer."

He jostled her, pulled her close to his chest, but she didn't move. He could no longer find the pulse in her neck or feel her breaths on his face. And then, in his useless arms, he was certain she'd left him, a lone father with an even lonelier daughter.

-o-

"I want to return," Darika said firmly.

Alin smiled and watched the sea gulls wheel overhead, one eye closed against the bright sun glinting off the harbor waves. "Good."

"To Mr. Levesque's house," she corrected. She was tired, thirsty, and dreading a long voyage across the sea. They're ship, however, had literally not come in yet. "I'd like to see him one last time."

Alin dropped his shoulders and turned away from her. They stood on the dock, their luggage beside them and their tickets in hand for their travel back to Europe.

"I should have known," he groaned. "Oh, I should have seen this coming, but alas I am a trusting fool."

"Just one more time." She stepped toward him and grabbed his arm. "There is no sense in traveling all of this distance for so little, is there?"

"I suppose not," he said, though his voice held no conviction. He turned back to her.

"She sent me here for a reason," she stated. "I know my mother and I know she wouldn't have sent me here without a purpose." She swallowed, unable to believe her own words. In the back of her mind she still remembered the sickening grin on her mother's face as she spoke the name Erik Levesque.

"The man with the scars upon his face," her mother had said. "Ask her how he received them. He will tell you much, my daughter." The poisonous tone in her mother's voice still haunted Darika, infused her with the need to chase a name.

She remembered her own fear and remorse when she looked at her mother, at the one person in the world she should have loved the most—yet often hated. Yet here she stood, an obedient daughter in an unfamiliar world.

"Find him." Her mother's words continued to echo through her mind. "Ask him how fond I was of him once, long ago. Then ask him about our happy reunion." Even now the words sent a shiver down her spine.

When she'd finally found him, she couldn't bear to ask him what had happened, though in her mind she expected it was the work of her sultan father, of the man she'd always known was not her sire. He'd treated her well, however, and had denied that she was not his daughter. For his own sake, she was certain, since her mother had dishonored him by lying with another man.

"Tell me one thing, Darika," Alin said. "Must I join you yet again?"

"Of course," she said, startled by his question. It may not have been his pleasure, but it was his duty. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I don't think the fellow likes me much."

"No one likes you much," she teased. In the five days since they'd wandered around New York, she'd appreciated his humor and his presence. He guarded her well and always made certain she was protected without hovering over her as certain bodyguards in her father's palace often had. The space he allowed her improved her mood. She almost found him pleasant. Almost.

"I don't want anyone to like me much," he said with a shrug. "Menacing and unapproachable makes my job easier."

She looked him over. Other than stature, he wasn't at all a force to be reckoned with. If only people knew his softer side they would never have taken him seriously. Much as she hated to admit it, he'd provided more than protection. He'd given her stability and an awkward, unusual friendship. He also promised not to tell her father that she traveled without a mandatory female companion.

"I'll have the sultan pay you well for the extra time we spend here."

"And if he refuses?"

She stiffened. "I have my own funds."

To that he snorted. "The gold of a woman."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I bet it smells like jasmine. What will the men say when they see me?"

"Oh, must you complain about everything?" she asked.

"Yes." He whistled for two dirty-faced boys, who quickly scampered toward them. In his rough growl of a voice he told them to take all of the trunks and luggage and return them to the Fair Inn, which is where they had stayed since they first arrived in New York almost a month earlier. The boys, obviously tamed by Alin's voice, bowed and nodded profusely as they stole glances at Darika. She stared at them, her face veiled and eyes barely visible as the wind pulled at her covering.

"She must be important," one of the boys said to the other, nodding in her direction.

They looked her over, scrutinized her clothing and appearance. She'd grown accustomed to people staring at her first in the palace where she'd grown up with her mother and her adoptive father's many wives.

Despite the desire to stare back at them, Darika lowered her eyes and allowed herself to become a spectacle.

"Look at her, dressed like a tent."

"She's not a tent! She must be a ghost," the other replied. "If we blink, she'll disappear."

"Turn away," his companion urged. "I don't want to see a ghost. Harold, what did I say! If she's a ghost, don't look."

No, she thought. I'm not a ghost. I'm chasing one.


	67. Able to Provide

Warning that if birth, breastfeeding, or the idea of motherhood grosses you out, you might not want to read the second part of the chapter because it contains more than you might ever want to know about the afterbirth process. Don't say you weren't warned!

NDBRs: There were changes throughout.

Shringaar8

Darika almost wished she had complied and boarded the ship back to Europe and then home to Persia. Her feet ached, her back had never felt worse, and she was tired of the crowded streets. She longed for a cup of chai and a leisurely afternoon with the rest of the gossiping horde, otherwise known as her father's and brother's wives.

She didn't miss the people within the palace but rather the ability to avoid them. If anything could be said of her mother it was that she'd enjoyed her privacy as well, and before her death, she'd shown Darika the secret passageways built by a mastermind.

"The man who designed my palace was an artist in the truest sense," she had said as they traveled through the walls. "It is a shame he perished at such a tender age."

Perhaps she didn't wish to return after all. Something about the secret tunnels had always bothered her, given her a sense of deep foreboding. She found no pleasure in sneaking about to peer into the sultan's chambers or those of his wives, felt no desire to watch others bathe unaware. The only place she wished to be was in the gardens, in the peace of the fruit trees and flowers that perfumed the air. She missed the tranquility of birds singing and water cascading from massive fountains. How odd it had seemed that the man who had envisioned a palace of tunnels and deceit had also conjured a tranquil labyrinth of foliage.

A young woman sailed past Darika, muttering, "Doctor, I need a doctor."

Alin pulled her close to keep her from being trampled by the frantic lady, and for a moment her face was buried in his hard chest. All she could think of was that he could use a bit of cologne to mask the smell of his sweat.

"Wasn't that…" Alin started. He pulled Darika back and looked her in the eye. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

"That woman who nearly killed you. Did you see her face? I think it was Mr. Levesque's housekeeper."

"How could I have seen her?" She paused, her eyes widening. "Really?"

He grunted and his pace quickened. Despite her protests, he nearly dragged her down the street.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Come on, then. Looks like you've returned in time for a bit of excitement."

She trotted beside him, beads of sweat forming on her forehead in a most unladylike manner. By the time they arrived at his doorstep they'd look like two unwashed beggars.

"Why on earth would he need a doctor? Goodness, you don't suppose something has happened to him, do you? Did he look ill to you? Pale? Gaunt? Unhealthy in any way at all?"

"His wife just gave birth," he reminded her.

"His daughter," she gasped. A chill ran down her spine and she couldn't help but think _my baby sister. _

-o-

Blood stained Erik's hand, warm and sticky and fresh from his wife. Her night dress was stained between her legs, though he couldn't remember if it had been the doctor or Corinna who had said that bleeding was normal. He didn't know what to believe as Corinna hadn't thought a fever was anything to concern herself with, and now this…

As gently as he could, he'd placed her back on the bed, laying a towel beneath her hips to soak up the blood, and covered her with a blanket. She'd groaned when her knees had come apart, and her only sign of life had given him relief.

Once he washed his hands in the useless water basin, he ran his hands up and down her arms, helping to keep the blood moving in her veins. A faint but steady pulse beat in her throat, giving him hope that she could hold on a little longer. If she could hear him, if she could know how desperate he was for her to survive, he knew she'd fight to stay alive.

Sori wailed, demanding to be fed. He held her to his chest, jostling her in the way all new parents did in order to appease an otherwise angry, frustrated child. While he ran his fingers through Corinna's hair with one hand, he tried to offer Sori the other but feared he'd drop her on the floor.

Breast milk stained Corinna's gown as her body reacted to her child's hungry cries. He looked from the miserable baby in his arms to his dying wife and frowned. He'd watched her nurse before, but he had no idea how she managed to offer herself to their daughter.

"For God's sake," he muttered. How difficult could it be? It looked as though she merely opened her blouse and guided Sori's face toward her nipple. That was how he remembered it, though he hadn't closely examined the process. Despite being related to both of them, the act was an intimate bond between mother and child, not a spectacle for a new father.

Corinna's head jerked ever so slightly, her brows knit in obvious frustration clouded by sleep. She wouldn't want Sori to starve to death or miss a feeding. She'd want their daughter to be happy and content, but she had no say in the matter. It was up to him.

Placing the baby beside Corinna, he took a breath and unbuttoned her night dress until he exposed her breast, which was rock hard and leaking a steady stream of milk in response to Sori's cries.

He paused, unsure of what he was about to do, but Sorinji convinced him that she needed her mother more than he needed to protect his pride and manly doubts. With as much gentleness as he could offer, he turned Corinna onto her side so that she faced Sori, who was giving her best performance yet. He shushed the little girl and tucked a pillow behind her until he had her positioned and ready to feed.

Nervously he smashed her face to her mother's body just as he'd thought he'd seen Corinna do, and her mouth miraculously opened and she began to suck, tiny grunts of desperation emerging between lusty swallows. Somehow, between all the screaming and wrenching of her small, helpless body, she'd managed to latch on. With the way she grunted and snorted, he had a feeling she wouldn't leave her mother's side voluntarily for quite some time.

He gave a sigh of relief that she was quiet and he was able to think, but soon enough he could only think of how much his back ached as he knelt over his wife and held Sori in place.

"Hold on," he whispered. "Sweetheart," he added, his heart swelling with pride. In the five days since he'd held her and kissed her, he hadn't found an appropriate endearment for her, but this felt right. She was the sweetest person occupying his heart, aside from her mother, who refused to be called dear or darling. For a woman who cried over flowers, she couldn't stand nicknames.

Awkwardly he crawled over Corinna, one hand on Sori as he lay beside the baby and kept her from slipping. He kissed the back of the baby's silky head, smelled her breath sweet with the scent of milk, and closed his eyes briefly.

"You're amazing, Corinna," he whispered. He watched Sori's lips move, her tiny hand curled and placed lovingly on her mother's chest. "Simply amazing to be able to care for her without opening your eyes or even realizing your strength. But you know, don't you? You know that you keep her alive."

His throat tightened before he could tell her that she kept him alive as well. His lips pursed, his eyes forced to close by the burn of tears and the swell of the sheer relief he felt.

When he could breathe again, he looked at her still face, watched the pulse in her neck and the flit of her eyes beneath closed eyelids. He'd done it, he'd bridged the cavernous gap between mother and child. While Corinna clung to life, he'd helped Sori survive as well, which he hadn't thought himself capable of doing.

For the first time all morning he'd felt as though he could help her through this. For the first time in many years, he felt a sense that someone could depend on him, and he'd be damned if he let his wife or newborn daughter down.

-o-

In her haste, the housekeeper had apparently left the front door ajar. Darika, determined to do something, bowed her head and prepared to enter, but Alin grabbed her by the arm and reeled her back.

"I will not allow you to walk into someone's house uninvited."

She lifted her chin. "I'm not a stranger."

"You're not welcome, either."

His words stung but she refused to be easily deterred from her mission. "There is no one available to welcome me, and, if the situation deems it necessary, I will see myself inside."

"What are you doing?"

"Offering my assistance."

"And what, pray tell, do you have to offer?"

She stared at him, willed him to challenge her. "Womanly services."

He arched a brow. "Explain."

"You're a man. You'd never understand."

He looked nonplussed but didn't argue, which made her believe that he also wanted to see what had happened.

"We should help him," she said as she walked through the doorway and into the foyer. A giant, bushy fern tickled her elbow as she walked further into the house.

"How?"

"It depends on what's wrong, doesn't it?"

Signs of the life he lived greeted her. There was a wooden bucket near the door which contained four umbrellas. A coat rack housed a man's hat and a coat that looked as though it had never been worn. A slender table held a blue vase filled with fresh lilies. Beside it was a stack of letters bound with twine, the top one smudged with a watermark from a forgotten watering can.

She loved it here, but somehow the enclosed space didn't seem to fit him. Why she felt this way she didn't know, though she assumed it was a daughter's intuition.

"Wait here," she told Alin over her shoulder.

He frowned at her. "I'm not allowing you out of my sight."

She grabbed hold of the banister and glanced at him from over her shoulder. "As you wish."

When she turned toward the upstairs, Erik stood on the landing, the infant in his arms. He looked anything but pleased to see her.


	68. Unfamiliar Eyes

S9

The sight of him standing rigid at the top of the staircase with a bundle of soft blankets nestled close to his chest startled Darika. She blinked, her hands loose at her sides and her tongue tied in knots.

"I'm here to offer you my assistance in whatever matter troubles you," Darika said proudly.

"Get out of my house," Mr. Levesque demanded.

"But—"

"I said out."

Alin moved toward Darika, his eyes wide with warning. He casually motioned toward the open door but she ignored him. Nothing could break her dogged determination. He needed her help, but he didn't know it yet. If only he'd listen to reason.

"Please," she tried.

"Get out or I'll kill both of you."

"Now, wait one moment," Alin said gruffly. "There is no need for threats."

Mr. Levesque stepped off the landing, his hardened gazed fixed on Darika, who had stiffened, paralyzed by the look of pure hatred on his masked face. She'd never stared into such malice before. Normally, when it came to her mother, she'd been allowed to lower her gaze or bow her head in shame, but he held her, transfixed her beyond the ability to look away. What it was about him she didn't know, but she understood that he wasn't done with her—even if he wanted nothing to do with her or Alin.

"Please," she whispered. It frightened her to think of this man as being capable of killing, especially when the newborn fit so perfectly in his arms.

"What will it take for you to listen?" he seethed. "Are you simply incapable of listening to a damned word I've said? Is that it?"

"Do not come any closer," Alin warned.

Mr. Levesque stomped down the next two steps. "You will not order me around in my own damned home." His gaze flickered toward Alin before settling on Darika again. "What do you want from me, hmm? What else could you possibly take from me?"

"I merely wish to help," she answered softly, confused by his tone of voice and his unspeakable anger. No one, save her mother and a handful of harsh tutors who meant well, had ever raised their voices at her. In the very core of her being, she wanted to shrink away and hide. This was what she would never miss in the palace she'd called home.

"I'll kill you," he said, his voice low and barely controlled. "I'll kill you the way she attempted to kill me. Eye for a bloody eye, is that how she wanted it?"

"I don't understand."

Alin pushed Darika behind him before Mr. Levesque could respond. "Enough. You will not threaten her, is that understood, Mr. Levesque?" he asked tightly. She recognized his tone of voice, and a chill ran down her spine. Alin would no longer tolerate the twist in the conversation.

"Then I'll kill you first," Mr. Levesque answered as he reached the bottom of the staircase. His large hands trembled, his breath unsteady with rage. Not once did his gaze falter, and the longer he stared at Darika, the more uncomfortable she became standing in his home.

"I'll snap your neck," Alin replied, his hands clenched.

"No, no don't say such a horrific thing to him," Darika said frantically. "Alin, he's holding a child."

"Put the child down," Alin said as he stalked forward.

Darika darted forward and placed herself between the two of them. She placed one hand flat on Alin's chest, the other against Mr. Levesque's, and she stared from one reddened face to the next. The infant remained asleep and motionless in her father's protective arms.

"Don't hurt each other," she pleaded, keeping herself between the two civilized men turned savage beasts. Alin relaxed, but the man she had come to help pushed forward, staring at her with the most hateful expression imaginable. "Please, for goodness sake, I don't want to see anyone hurt. We only returned to help you."

Mr. Levesque's mouth twitched. "Like hell you did," he said through his teeth.

-o-

Deep inside Erik felt a sense of gratitude that Darika had stepped between him and Alin. With Sori still in his arms, he could not have done more than appear menacing, which he'd realized far too late wasn't enough. Alin Nadir may have looked more boyish than manly in the face, but he was trained to protect Darika, the daughter of a sultan—at least by name.

He glanced down at Sori, who remained fast asleep despite the commotion. Already he'd come too close and risked her life, but the moment he'd seen the two intruders in his home all he could think of was that he needed to reach the table in the foyer and the pistol hidden within the drawer. Its chamber was empty, but he hoped the sight of it would be enough to banish them from his home and life for good.

But what if it hadn't worked? What if Alin had drawn a knife? In one fluid motion, the giant could have skewered both him and Sori and left them for dead. He'd placed her in harm's way, a helpless infant not even a week old yet. He'd done the unforgivable. Suddenly he wanted to place her in her bassinet, far from his careless grasp. What sort of father confronted strangers—threatened strangers—with a baby in his arms? The realization was staggering.

"We…we heard," Darika said softly.

He stared at her, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. "Heard what?" he rudely demanded.

"We were walking down the street and we saw the young lady who works here. I don't know her name," she babbled.

"And?" he asked impatiently.

"And we overheard her saying that she needed to find a doctor." The girl stood on the tips of her toes, her gaze set on Sori. An overwhelming need to protect his daughter made him wrench to the side and cover the infant from gawking faces. They wouldn't look at her unless he allowed it.

"She insisted she could help," Alin said, glaring at Darika.

"I can," she replied. "I—I mean to say that I will do whatever is possible to help the child."

"She's fine," he mumbled, glancing back at the staircase. He wondered if this was what she wanted: To draw him away from Corinna's side, to leave his wife to die alone, stricken with fever and infection. "Leave. I must attend to my wife."

Darika gasped, her lips forming a wide, perfect O. "She's ill? She's the one who needs the doctor?"

"As if you didn't already know," he muttered.

"Of course I didn't know," she replied. "How would I?"

He looked at her sharply, a thousand reasons sprinting through his mind. Because you've searched and found me, because you're here and I have no idea what to do with you, because it's in your blood to acquire what your mother wanted from me…

"Leave," he said. He turned away, unable to look at her a moment longer. His past rested in her eyes, the terror of years gone by filled him when he heard her voice. How easy he had made it for her to kill all of them in their own home. Perhaps she'd paid Eleanor to leave the door wide open, but then, of course, why hadn't she already killed him? Perhaps she enjoyed the anticipation of the kill.

"What's wrong with her?" Darika inquired. "If I may ask," she added politely.

He hesitated, his gaze darting around the room. "Why in the hell would you care what's wrong with my wife?" he demanded. He fixed his gaze on Sori, on the only person in the room who could bring him a sense of joy and belonging.

"Because," she said quietly. "Because I'm a human being and I'm capable of feeling for others. Why wouldn't I care? If she needs attention—"

"What would you do for her?" he questioned, whipping around to face her.

"It depends on what's wrong with her." She shrugged. "Doesn't it?"

Desperation forced him to nod. He didn't know what to think or who to trust or mistrust. All that mattered was Corinna, whom he'd abandoned.

"She's…she's overly warm," he said, the familiar tide of helplessness inching closer. He stared at the girl, saw the obvious differences in her face that he hadn't noticed before. Her features were more rounded, her eyes sad, hinting at sympathy and kindness he'd never once noted in her mother's gaze. The veil she wore had been pulled aside, though he didn't know when, her jade eyes pale against the dark fabric framing her face.

"Fevered?" she questioned.

"Terribly."

"Can she take liquids? If you place a cup to her lips, will she drink it?"

He squeezed Sori to his chest, his sanity all but gone. He shouldn't have trusted either intruder in his home. If he'd had any sense at all, he would have left Sori with Corinna, found a loaded pistol upstairs or a sword in the wardrobe, and wounded or left them for dead. He wanted to kill them, needed to see her suffer as much as he had from torture.

But it wasn't her. It was her mother he wanted to kill, her mother he wanted to bind and lay outstretched on a table. Over the years he'd shivered at the thought of running a paint brush dipped in kerosene beneath her eye and along her lips. He'd envisioned the horror on her face, the absolute repugnance for the smell and the feel of the tiny hairs skimming along her flesh. An eye for an eye, he told himself.

These eyes were different.

"Mr. Levesque, is your wife able to drink?"

He looked away and shook his head. Eleanor had not yet found the doctor, and time was slipping away faster than he'd thought possible. For several heartbeats he stared at Darika, wanted to look through her and find the truth, the heart of her that he imagined was as shriveled and insignificant as her mother's. Instead he found genuine concern or a damned good actress playing the part of an innocent, angelic young woman. Perhaps because he was exhausted, or perhaps because he wanted to believe her, he accepted her concern as real, not contrived and predetermined for his demise.

"No, she is not able to drink anything." He blinked back the rush of tears that filled his eyes and hated himself for the unwanted emotion. He wanted to appear gruff and untouchable, a man lacking emotion when others were present, but he was too afraid of losing Corinna.

Darika nodded sympathetically, her face dark with concern.

"She won't wake up," he continued, swiftly turning away from them both.

Voicing the truth aloud left him weeping. Without bothering to see if they followed him, he walked away and returned to Corinna's side.


	69. Unwanted Help

Shringaar10

Erik felt as though he'd walked into a tomb. Corinna lay in shadows, the heavy curtains drawn to keep out the summer heat. The thick air clung to him, heavy and filled with sickness. He placed Sori into her bassinette and winced as her head rolled to the side. Thankfully she remained asleep, and he walked away from her in order to open the window and allow fresh air into the room. Even with the curtains drawn he perspired from the heat gathering on the upper floor and refusing to circulate. Bad air, he thought, the root of disease. He'd brewed the contents for her death in the very room she'd given new life.

The breeze, though more like a hot breath than wind, cooled the exposed half of his face. Children played on the street, groups of youngsters weaving between horses and carriages and people with wheelbarrows and carts. He watched only for a moment, soaking in the life before him which barely existed within the bedroom.

"Oh, God," he whispered.

In five years, perhaps, he imagined standing before this window with his arm around Corinna as they watched Sori play. It had been a fantasy of his, though he'd imagined a little boy, not a little girl angel, tucked in his arms. He'd forgotten that he'd wanted a son, forgotten that when Corinna's belly had swelled he'd imagined that she carried a boy. A daughter had come as a complete surprise. No wonder she had already stolen his heart; he hadn't seen her coming.

When he turned, he saw Darika on her knees by Corinna's bedside. She held a damp cloth in her hand and prepared to sponge Corinna's face.

"Don't," he barked. "Don't you dare!"

"She's very warm."

"Don't kill her!" he yelled, storming forward. His voice trembled with rage, with his own stupidity for not closing the door after he had entered the room.

The big man at her side stepped forward and blocked him. "She's incapable of killing spiders," he said with surprising calm. "I doubt she'll attempt to kill your wife."

Erik struggled to get past the human mountain, and watched as Darika gently placed the rag onto Corinna's forehead and spoke softly to her, explaining something he couldn't hear. Corinna groaned, her lips chapped and her limbs barely able to move.

"For God's sake, don't hurt her," he begged.

Darika ignored him and carefully pushed Corinna's damp hair back from her face. "She's a beautiful little girl, Mrs. Levesque, the most beautiful newborn I've ever seen. She takes after you, doesn't she? A petite little thing. She'll have many men lined up to ask for her hand one day, won't she?"

Corinna made another noise, a sound more suited for a beast than his wife. He couldn't tell what she said—if it was meant to be a word. All he knew was that it sounded like panic.

"I must go to her," he said, pulling back from Alin, who no longer attempted to hold him still.

"Then go to her," Alin replied.

"Her clothes are soaked," Darika said as Erik towered over her. He felt he should do something, though it seemed Darika was the more capable of the two of them. "Is it from sweat?"

"I bathed her," he said. "To bring the fever down."

She nodded, but didn't look at him. "It was too much at once," she said. "Good intentions, however."

_But you almost killed her because you have no idea how to care for anyone, let alone yourself, you worthless fool,_ he could almost hear her say.

"The doctor hasn't come yet?"

"He's…there's…no, he hasn't. He's busy with someone else. It's been hours since I sent for him."

"Did he help other women through their pains the night your daughter was born?"

"I have no idea," he said. He sank onto the bed beside Corinna. Only a week had passed, but he couldn't recall what the doctor had said or done. He wasn't even sure it was the same person attending. Lack of sleep and stress kept him unraveled, while one look at Corinna kept him from falling apart. She needed him. "I don't remember who it was or where he'd been that day."

She nodded sympathetically. "You weren't in the room."

"I wasn't in the house," he said mechanically. "I was on the porch, in the back."

_I was alone_, he wanted to say.

"Yes, well, I doubt men will ever be invited to see their child being born." Her cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat. "What I was going to say is that I've seen it before when several women all have their babies at once and the same person attends all of the births. It seems that many became ill with burning fevers, vomiting, all sorts of terrible colds. Perhaps that is what happened to Mrs. Levesque."

"I need to know what must be done, not what caused this," he snapped.

She stared at him, her eyes hardened. "Yes, that is understandable."

He lowered his gaze. "I want her to wake up," he said, unable to apologize, unwilling to ask for forgiveness. "I cannot change what happened to her, but I need to help her now."

"Make certain the doctor washes his hands before he touches your wife," Darika said firmly. "Lister would be horrified by this."

She rose and stood beside Alin. "Turn the rag over every few minutes, but don't soak her with cold water or she'll begin to shiver, which will make her fever worse."

"I know," he answered. _Because I've already done that._

"I'll make her something to drink."

Erik nodded and turned to face Corinna. He turned the rag over and felt a spark of hope when her breath hissed past her lips.

"Does she like garlic?" Darika asked. "It's very good for these sorts of things."

"Then bring it at once."

-o-

He looked at his wife with such tenderness that Darika couldn't bear to think of Mrs. Levesque dying. She'd understood the moment she looked at him that his life was intertwined with the mother of his child and that without her, he wouldn't be the same man.

She wondered who he'd be, and it frightened her. Not a good person, she thought, not a man anyone would want to know.

"You blame the doctor?" Alin questioned as he followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"You wouldn't?" she countered.

"I've only seen horses and other various barnyard animals give birth. I honestly have no idea."

"You remember meeting Mr. Lister, don't you?"

He nodded.

"And you remember what he said?"

"Vaguely."

"I will bet you all the fish in the sea that this doctor did not bother to wash his hands between the births."

"The fish aren't yours to give, and even if they were, how do you know if he had enough time? Perhaps he wanted to wash but couldn't."

"Oh, be quiet," she snapped. She stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked around for a tea kettle. "That isn't an excuse for killing an innocent woman."

"Do you think she will die?"

She turned around and shushed him. "Don't put the idea into the air," she said furiously as she pumped water into a tea kettle.

"Darika, do you realize what will happen if this woman dies? What will happen to you if that man thinks it was your doing?"

"I'm not concerned for myself," she answered firmly.

"Well, I am. It's my duty."

"Then you worry about me. I'll worry about Mr. and Mrs. Levesque."

"Darika, if you don't think it's possible for her to survive then you need to tell him at once. He'll blame you for his wife's death if she doesn't manage to live through today. You understand that, don't you?"

"Must you be negative?" she snapped.

"I'm being realistic."

"I don't need realistic. I need your help. Now, start the water boiling. The faster we give her something to drink, the better."


	70. Rescuing Corinna

A/N I'm only going to post one or two more Shringaar chapters here. As many of you are aware I'm taking my toys and going home. Just kidding. I'm moving all of my stories to my own bulletin board just because it's easier and I'm not posting twice. All readers are more than welcome to join me. We're a little bit Phantom, a lot orginal work (see my profile), and a whole lotta nonsense. It's a positive community—no badmouthing others. Writers and readers are welcome as long as you respect others. You mostly moderate yourself because I'm not going through every thread to modify snarkiness. We prefer membership to be 18 and over due to some mature content—I do write erotica, after all.

Thanks to all of you for reviewing. I miss writing Levesque. Sorry it's taken so long.

Gabrina

Shringaar11

Erik watched over Darika and her companion as they stood over Corinna. He held Sori in his arms, grateful for her slight but noticeable weight in his arms. If Corinna died, Sori would be all he had left of his wife, and even if he preferred not to think of it, the possibility remained heavy and black in his heart.

"What are you doing to her?" Erik asked as Darika wrung out a cloth and placed it under Corinna's arm.

"Cooling her," the girl answered. "I dampened her face and allowed it to dry and now I'm doing it again in other places."

"I tried and I almost killed her." He could hear the misery in his own voice, the fear that he'd be responsible for murdering the mother of his child. He'd almost killed her. Almost had been too close and he wouldn't risk her life again. "I didn't think the water was too cold."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell these things, especially when the moment is urgent." Darika pulled a blanket up to Corinna's stomach and smoothed it. She glanced up and smiled at him. "Because you realized the danger and wanted to help her at once. It's understandable. We'll take good care of her."

"Is she comfortable?" he asked, unsure of what to do or what to say. He wanted to watch closely but he didn't want to hover. Over and over he told himself not to trust Darika. Her sudden appearance had been too calculated, too orchestrated. He wouldn't put it past anyone in her family to approach with ill intentions.

And yet, she had the perfect opportunity to kill them all—mother, father, and child—and she hadn't acted. No assassin wasted time gaining trust when an open door presented itself.

"I think she's too warm and thirsty to be comfortable, but I don't know if she's in pain, which is what I think you're asking."

He nodded, all too familiar with the existence of pain. Every day they'd spent together he'd wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. Even when she'd come to him with her face painted and her body sheathed in gaudy colors he'd wanted to please her, to live up to her precise expectations.

"Come sit with her," Darika offered. She scooted aside and patted the bed for him to sit while Alin stood watch, his face strained.

Erik studied him a moment, wondered what the big man was thinking. He appeared wary of something, though Erik couldn't imagine anyone posing a threat to the giant of a man. No one would be foolish enough to challenge him—or at least Erik wasn't fool enough to instigate a fight. As long as he remained impassive toward Corinna he didn't much care if Alin stood watch.

"Erik," Corinna sighed.

His grip on Sori tightened, lips parted in astonishment. He took two steps and found himself at her side, kneeling with his daughter in his arms.

"I'm here," he said, his voice low as to not upset her or the baby.

"Don't leave me," she murmured. "Don't leave me again."

Darika took the opportunity to lift Corinna's head and bring water to her lips. She allowed her to drink slowly, and together Darika and Erik watched as Corinna struggled to take liquid.

"It has garlic in it," Darika said. "It will make you feel better very soon."

Erik took Corinna's hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "You needn't speak, my love. You must rest."

"Sori," she said, her voice louder than before.

Erik guided her hand to the perfect, tiny head covered with silky, dark hair. "I have her right here, Corinna. She's asleep. You rest as well and I'll bring her to you when she needs her mother." His voice cracked with emotion and the overwhelming surge of love and fear he'd felt since the moment fever had taken her.

Darika brought the cup of water to Corinna's lips for a second time and encouraged her to drink. "This is plain water. It will rinse the taste from your mouth. Isn't that good, Mrs. Levesque? Very cool and refreshing, isn't it?"

"Doctor," Corinna said.

Darika ran her fingers through Corinna's hair like a good, caring nurse. Erik watched her expression, saw the utmost respect and affection in her jade eyes. He'd never seen that look in her mother's gaze. They were different people with different purposes in life. At last he eased in her presence, almost certain Darika was incapable of doing Corinna harm.

"Sleep. We'll be nearby."

Corinna began to settle, her warm, clammy hand limp in Erik's grasp. He kissed her again, this time on the wrist. Such fine bones and delicate structure deserved the gentlest attention.

"You've saved her life," Erik said as he finally pulled his gaze away and looked Darika in the eye.

"She wanted you," she replied. "I think you saved her." Darika stood and smoothed her dress. "If you'd like I could take the baby from you for a moment and you could rest as well."

"I have her," he blurted out.

Darika smiled, not offended in the least. "Then Alin will make tea."

Alin's eyes widened. "Of course," he answered, glaring at her.

"We'll be downstairs. I'll return in an hour to see how Mrs. Levesque is doing and to give you something to wash her."

"Wash her?" he asked.

The girl nodded. "The birth area. It must be cleaned to keep further infection from starting."

He felt his cheeks begin to burn. "Of course," he said, his skin prickling with discomfort.

"Rest yourself. I'm sure it's been a long night for you as well."

-o-

Darika collapsed into a chair in the dining room and gave a sigh of relief. She loved the whole family from mother to daughter to father.

"We did it, Alin," she said.

"I don't think you did much of anything," he argued.

"Oh, you're the devil's advocate," she groaned.

"I beg your pardon, but you placed a damp rag in her armpit and she woke. I don't believe you did anything miraculous."

"No, perhaps not, but she's awake and Mr. Levesque is happy. That's all I needed."

"She could still take a turn for the worse."

"But she won't, especially if you stop all this nonsense about her health. Think positive."

"Realistic," he argued.

"Reality will be her recovery," Darika said, her voice raised in anger.

Alin blinked at her. "I hope you're right." He turned his empty teacup in his hand and stared at it. "Did you see how he looked?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"When he thought she might die, that you could kill her. I've never seen anything like that before, Darika. He's not able to function without her."

Darika's heart skipped a beat at the implication of love. Her dear father adored his wife and daughter. It was all she'd ever wanted, a loving parent who focused on a single partner as though no one else existed in the world—aside from his daughter, of course.

"What is that look for, Darika?"

"He's truly in love."

"That isn't what I meant."

"But it's true. He's the most loving man I've ever met."

Alin frowned at her. "You barely know him. In fact, you don't know him at all. You've been in his home for several hours and that's it."

"But I've seen it," she argued. There was nothing Alin could say that would make her believe anything other than what she'd already set in stone in her heart. He was a good, loving husband a good, caring father. A lifetime of cowering in her mother's shadow and fearing that the next person punished would be her, and that she would no longer exist. She'd come to America, to a land of possibilities and pleasant dreams. This was her new life, their new life. It was a chance to start over, to experience a family that cared for one another. A loving man, a loving wife, and loving children.

And he was her father.

Life could get no sweeter.


End file.
